


The List Series

by preromantics



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Kinks, Lists, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-14
Updated: 2011-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-16 23:01:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 50,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preromantics/pseuds/preromantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doing things backwards, or: Kurt finds a very interesting list in Blaine's bedside drawer. It doesn't take long to start exploring the list in earnest, though the things both Kurt and Blaine both learn along the way are not what Kurt expects at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The List Series

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted in separate but consecutive parts -- it can be read that way still over at LJ, master post: http://preromantics.livejournal.com/135897.html
> 
> I'm throwing it up all together here in case anyone wants to read it all at once, though it was originally intended to be read in parts. Up here it also serves as an easy way to download it, because AO3 is awesome like that. (Though, you know, I'm not sure why you'd want to download it, I just always like having that option.)

**one.**

 

Kurt is not sitting on Blaine’s bed freaking out. He really has no reason to be freaking out, despite the fact that Blaine just kissed him, right out of nowhere, just as Kurt was leaning his head up to ask whether he should include fashions as a subcategory in his essay about the major impacts of the Great Depression on the following decades.

Except, instead of inspiring a rousing debate on the new standard of beaded couture, Kurt got -- Blaine kissed him. 

The part that Kurt has no reason to be internally freaking out over, though, is the part where Blaine pulled away, apologized, and pointed awkwardly at the bathroom before sliding off the bed and disappearing through the door.

“Are you --” Kurt starts, calling across the room. He’s not sure if he wants to know if Blaine is going to come back out or if he's inside freaking out or what, but he’d really either like an explanation or some actual making out. He’s kind of been waiting months for Blaine to finally get it together and kiss him, and Kurt definitely pictured the whole thing going a little differently. 

“Just a sec,” Blaine calls back, muffled by the door but audible enough. 

Kurt isn’t sure if he should relax back into the bed, so he compromises by sitting straight up but glancing down at his essay outline, picking up his pen to cross out the part about fashion. His American History teacher at Dalton doesn’t seem like he’d appreciate Kurt’s research into Depression-inspired fashion over, say, the economic repercussions felt in later decades. When Kurt goes to cross out the lines, though, no ink comes out, and he digs the pen tip in circles over the page with more force than necessary for a few seconds, mind wandering to Blaine behind the bathroom door -- where he is hopefully not freaking out, before giving the pen up as a lost cause. 

The silence in the room is more noticeable now that Kurt is alone. Before, when they were laying sideways on Blaine’s bed, Kurt had been able to focus on the little scratching noises his pen made, on the steady pattern on Blaine’s breathing and the occasional sound of a page turning. (He’d also been able to focus on the slope and swell of Blaine’s back, the long line of his spine under his shirt that led down to the waist of his jeans, the rise there that kept distracting Kurt from his essay.)

Kurt glances at the bathroom door for a moment before setting his pen to the side and leaning over to Blaine’s end table, stretching out so he can pull the drawer open slowly. Most sensible people keep pens beside their beds, as far as Kurt knows, so he doesn’t feel invasive at all on impulse, except --

Blaine definitely, definitely doesn’t have any pens in his bedside drawer. 

Kurt wants to be the sort of person to calmly shut the drawer and keep his curiosity to himself, except he’s not really that type of person at all. There is an extra folded up tie shoved in one corner of the drawer with a pair of socks, some paperclips and a battered looking notebook, but those aren’t what catch Kurt’s eye. In the front of the drawer is a string of condom packets next to a tube of lube with the top neatly rolled over a few times, just like Kurt keeps his toothpaste at home, along with a folded and worn sheet of paper tucked underneath. 

Again, Kurt glances up at Blaine’s bathroom door, holding his breath a little (still not freaking out over what Blaine is doing in there, taking so long, hopefully not locking himself inside because Kurt is a horrible kisser -- oh, and Kurt didn't even consider that --) and sliding all the way onto his stomach so he can pick up half-hidden the piece of paper, unfolding it as quickly as he can. At first glance Kurt realizes it’s a list, numbered neatly in Blaine’s handwriting but written in different colored inks, as if it’s something Blaine adds onto once and a while. 

One, it says, willing and laid out, and right below, Two: bondage which is where Kurt feels his own eyes widen, scanning the rest of the list, pausing to swallow at some of the listed numbers, (Eight: a toy and Twelve: fisting??, among others). 

“Blaine,” Kurt calls, because he needs to know why Blaine has a list detailing sexual things that Kurt has barely thought about (and a few he hasn’t heard of, which means tonight he has research to do that he’s certain his history teacher definitely won’t appreciate) and what the list is for.

(Kurt wonders if any of the numbers were written with him in mind, flushing automatically and folding the list back up, laying it in it’s same place in the drawer. Considering it’s taken until May to get to the kissing part of their mutual awkward-dance situation, Kurt figures none of them were. Even though Kurt knows that if he had a list, at the moment it would definitely be heavily swayed by things he’d like to do to Blaine Anderson. It would probably be titled that, too, right at the top, where Blaine's list is blank.)

“I’m all set,” Blaine calls back, and Kurt shoves the drawer closed and sits back up, trying to figure out how to straighten his face and also how to ask Blaine about the list.

Blaine does step back out into his room after a few seconds, ducking his head and grinning in an almost sheepish sort of way that Kurt isn’t used to seeing on his face at all. 

“I’m such a dick,” Blaine says, stepping forward, “you have to hate me right now.”

Kurt doesn’t actually trust himself to answer, because he’s caught up in looking at the way Blaine’s uniform tie is hanging loosely around his neck and thinking about “Two: bondage”, neatly written in Blaine’s handwriting. 

“Can I sit?” Blaine asks, stopping at the edge of the bed with his knees pressed against it, running his hand through his hair when he looks down at Kurt.

“It’s your bed,” Kurt manages, leaning away so Blaine has more room, watching as Blaine settles back down, sitting half on his pillow with his knees up so they don't hit Kurt's side in the limited space between them. 

“I freaked out a little,” Blaine says, his mouth twisting. 

“I noticed,” Kurt says. He doesn’t really want to know where this conversation is going, especially if it’s of the, I like you, but sort of variety. 

“It’s just,” Blaine says, “I kind of planned everything out and how that was going to happen, but you looked up from your books and I was staring at your face, feeling like an idiot because you’re so -- whatever -- and you opened your mouth and I just --”

“Kissed me,” Kurt says. It feels interesting to say out loud. Blaine kissed him. Blaine kissed him and then he stopped, which was definitely not a shining example of Blaine's decision making skills. 

Blaine laughs, his eyes closing for a second. “There were supposed to be candles and romance, Kurt. I wanted it to be the opposite of some sneaky, surprise attack. Because of everything before.”

“I don’t think it counts as an attack if I’ve been waiting for roughly forever for you to do it,” Kurt says, level, understanding what Blaine means and feeling a rush of affection for him, a little overwhelming. 

Blaine grins at that. “I think I left to see if I had some sort of latent power that would let me reverse time and do it over again. At least, that’s what I was thinking about in there.”

Kurt makes a face, because Blaine says things that consistently make Kurt unsure of whether he should laugh or just feel ridiculously warm and fond. 

They sit silently for a few seconds, Kurt trying desperately not to feel awkward while thinking about Blaine’s very interesting list, and also wanting more than anything for Blaine to stop looking awkward and sheepish back and go back to the controlled and, now that Kurt thinks about it, kind of desperate kissing that he’d sprung on Kurt earlier. 

“We could,” Blaine says, offering up some complicated hand motion that Kurt applies to being equivalent to number Fifteen: 69ing! (there was an exclamation point and everything) on Blaine’s list, though he knows that’s absolutely not what Blaine means. “If you still want to.”

“If you just asked me if I want to go back to making out with you,” Kurt says, his body going a little tense in anticipation, despite the dryness he’s keeping in his voice, “then I have seriously underestimated your intelligence.”

“That means yes, right?” Blaine asks, eyebrows coming together in the middle of his forehead in an exaggerated fashion.

Kurt rolls his eyes. “Kiss me,” he says, because suddenly it’s okay to ask, now that they’ve sort of talked about it, the careful boundary removed. “Please,” he adds.

Blaine leans forward, un-tucking his own legs and shifting on his knees until he’s hovering over Kurt, higher over Kurt on the bed compared to where Kurt is sitting cross-legged in the dip of the mattress. “All you had to do was ask,” Blaine says, pleasantly. 

Kurt has a moment to think about how he really wishes that would have been true a month or two ago, because Kurt probably would have asked for much more than kissing, had they not been doing their silent post-Valentine’s Day confessions walk around each other, brushing their knuckles together when they walked and their knees together when they sat and decidedly not talking about it. 

Blaine is softer, this time, where before the press of his lips had been hard with pressure and half-open mouthed around a groan that Kurt was not expecting to hear, beyond not expecting any of this to begin with.

Blaine tilts Kurt’s face up with two fingers along his jaw, angling their faces together so his lips slip around Kurt’s bottom lip and pull, just lightly, Kurt parting his lips at the sensation. 

“Good?” Blaine asks, soft against Kurt’s mouth. 

Kurt nods against him, pressing forward towards Blaine’s chest, wanting to tip them back, to do this properly, something. “More,” Kurt says, and he can feel Blaine grin. 

“Yeah, come here,” Blaine agrees, laying back on the bed and pulling Kurt down with him, both of their legs kicking notebooks and textbooks off the edge of the bed. Blaine grins up at him. "Earlier was stupid," he says, "this is better."

“Can we?” he asks, figuring out the best way to shift his hips down without pressing too much against Blaine, kneeling between his thighs.

Kurt likes the simplicity of this, the way he can press his hand into Blaine's chest to steady himself when Blaine's teeth drag just lightly over his bottom lip. He likes the way he doesn't have to move his hand away, lets his fingers curl into the material of Blaine's shirt and stick there.

Belatedly, lost in the moment and the slow path Blaine's hands are making down his ribs over his shirt, Kurt realizes he's making small noises, little high ones in the back of his throat. Blaine leans away, pressing his lips open-mouthed against Kurt's cheek, and laughs, light.

"You should be getting home," Blaine says after a second, pressing up at Kurt's sides. 

Kurt can't help but make (another) tiny noise in frustration, tensing up his thighs where he's holding himself over Blaine and frowning down at him. "It's not too late," he says, even though he doesn't know what time it is at all. Getting home late is so, so worth staying in bed with Blaine, doing things like kissing. 

Blaine runs a hand through the back of Kurt's hair, pressing into his scalp with the pads of his fingertips in a way that feels really nice. "Kurt," he says, low again, "I would gladly lock the door and keep you here until they sent out search parties."

"So keep me," Kurt says, a second away from shaking Blaine's hands off and just leaning back down to kiss him. 

Blaine rubs through his hair again and Kurt raises up his head a little to meet the pressure. It feels nice. Blaine feels nice, underneath him, his tie lose and the first few buttons of his shirt undone, the showing skin distracting Kurt with all the things he could be doing and isn't. "Let's go," Blaine says, sitting up and unsettling Kurt, making him tip sideways towards the side of the bed, almost hitting his head against the end table. 

"Sorry," Blaine says, when Kurt can't help but level a glare at him, "that was for my own good. I wasn't sure how much longer I could say no to your face." 

Kurt grins, a little, though he's caught looking down at the end table, the drawer open a little where Kurt realizes he didn’t shut it all the way. He turns back to where Blaine is laying beside him on the bed, one arm thrown over his face, stretched out, pants wrinkled and not pressed like usual. Kurt equally wants to bring up the list (not to mention the condoms and the lube, and what experience Blaine has, so many things that Kurt wants to think about tonight when he gets home in detail, oh) as much as he wants to roll back over on top of Blaine and just -- 

"What are you thinking about?" Blaine asks, arm still over his face, enough that Kurt doesn't feel bad for turning away from the drawer and running his eyes down the line of Blaine's chest, pressed up under his shirt. 

"You don't want to know," Kurt says, and Blaine rolls over at that, laying half over Kurt's leg and looking up at him. 

"I think you should know," Blaine says, "that as soon as you leave I'm going to do some sort of horrible, tacky victory dance. So you should leave, unless you want to be forever ruined."

"Ruined for what?" Kurt asks, laughing a little, because it's so easy for Blaine to switch into playful and fun, just as easy as it is for him to say a few words that make Kurt's mouth dry and his temples throb a little. 

"Any sex appeal you might think I, hopefully, hold," Blaine says, blinking up at Kurt upside-down. 

"I feel like I should point out that you are on my legs," Kurt says. Kurt doesn't want to leave, wants to do anything but. 

Blaine laughs and sits up, too-fast, and Kurt feels a little dizzy when he watches Blaine lean up in front of him. Dizzy from the motion of Blaine and the bed and from all the things in his head. (Also from how he can still feel Blaine's lips on his, a little numb, and Kurt doesn't think he's ever been so aware of all the tiny little nerve endings there.)

Blaine leans forward while Kurt steadies himself, pressing his nose against Kurt's. They stay like that for more than a minute, Kurt resiting the urge to run his hand through Blaine's semi-stiff hair. He backs up off the bed, though, reluctantly and slowly, wondering exactly how his luck changed today, but not wanting to question it. 

"Tomorrow," Blaine says, when Kurt shoulders his bag by the door, "we'll -- something."

"That's specific," Kurt says, though he feels a thrum of excitement.

He holds Blaine's eyes at the door, nearly blurting out something about the list in Blaine's drawer, still a nagging thought at the back of his mind. He doesn't, though, instead shutting the door behind him and leaning against it for a minute, imagining (and definitely pretending he can hear) Blaine's supposed ridiculous victory dance. He grins all the way to his car and through the entire drive home, and not even Nickelback on the radio quells his good mood.

  
-

  
Kurt thinks about Blaine's list to the point of some sort of obsession that night, despite not bringing it up. He thinks about the first number marked there, laid out, not understanding the context but understanding the thought behind it, flushing under the hot water of his morning shower thinking about laying himself out for Blaine, waiting on his bed for him to come inside and just -- 

He thinks about Blaine's history with these sorts of things, how he obviously knows more than Kurt's but they've never talked specifics, and Kurt wants to know, wants to have that conversation. He wants to talk about what it means, now that they've gone past straddling the line they created unintentionally a few months ago, unsure of how or where to start anything serious at all, even though Kurt still wanted to, maybe more than ever. He's almost late running up to his first class from the parking lot, half-expecting Blaine to be waiting for him up on the sidewalk like he usually does, and not sure whether to be relieved that he isn't there or not.

Except, Kurt doesn't see Blaine at lunch, or in the halls, or at any time during the day. 

"Dude, Kurt," David says, apparently paying more attention than Kurt realizes, staring at Kurt across the table over lunch. "You look devastated over your fries. You know that the potatoes don't actually care about being eaten? If it's because they taste bad, though, then --"

Wes elbows David in his side. Kurt hasn't been on the receiving end of an elbowing from Wes but he's been sitting next to Blaine during one before, and apparently he has really knobby elbows. "Kurt," Wes says, as David attempts to do something with his hands in retaliation that Kurt is really glad he knows the context for, "Blaine is doing his senior year schedule conferencing right now. He's out for the day."

"Oh," Kurt says, trying to arrange his face to look less put-out, "thanks." (David echoes him, nodding, "I'm relieved you weren't that irrational about your fries, honestly.")

"No problem," Wes says, elbowing David away from his can of soda. Most of the lunch table goes back to talking about how Nick's girlfriend is paying for a spring break vacation for them both, and Kurt knows there is a Funny Girl reference in there, but Blaine isn't around, so he doesn't bring it up.

  
-

  
Kurt does, finally, get to see Blaine at the end of the day, both of them heading towards the dorms at the back of the campus from opposite directions at the same time. 

"Hi," Blaine says, stuffing his hands in his pockets when they meet up. 

Kurt stops a foot or so short of him, feeling inexplicably anxious from building up the moment all day. Blaine breaks the tension first, though, grinning and stepping forward. "Well," he says, turning so they can walk side-by-side the rest of the way, "that was weird, but probably merited." 

Kurt nods, unable to figure out what to say first. He'd spent his entire last class decidedly not making a list of things he wanted to talk to Blaine about in the near future, because every time he started to write numbers neatly down on a page in his notebook he thought about other lists he could be making, lists similar to Blaine's bedside drawer list, and flushed down his spine. 

"I have to run out," Blaine says, when they get to his door in the hall, studying Kurt in a side-glance, "in a sec, to grab some work from campus. Wait for me?"

"Of course," Kurt says, his first addition to their conversation since they started walking. (He's pretty sure Blaine was talking about arguing with Dalton's ancient career counselor about something weird like Led Zeppelin, though Blaine was holding the entire conversation up on his own and Kurt was distracted by the fact Blaine wasn't in his uniform, his shirt too-small and riding up a little each time he walked, baring the name of Blaine's middle school music department.)

"Hey," Kurt says, crossing into Blaine's room and sitting on the edge of his bed, watching as Blaine grabs a few papers from his desk and folds them into his bag.

"A little late on the up take, but I knew you'd eventually get to a greeting," Blaine says, turning halfway to shoot Kurt a teasing smile.

"No, hey," Kurt says, pausing for a moment, thinking clearly about the question he'd been wanting to ask for nearly an entire day, "do you ever write lists?"

"Lists?" Blaine asks, turned away towards his desk. "Not really, why?"

Kurt sits up a little straighter on the edge of Blaine's bed, studying the line of Blaine's back, wondering if it's actually a little more tense or if Kurt is reading into things too much. "Really?" Kurt asks, drawing it out a little. He wants Blaine to know that he saw the list, he wants him to know that he's okay with it, more than okay -- maybe wants him to know that he's been thinking about it all day, wondering how Blaine could neatly write down so many things, what it all meant. (Maybe wants Blaine to bring it up first, share it with him, and then share the things on the list with him. Kurt is a teenage boy, and he wants that, sometimes more than he wants making-out and awkward conversations.)

"I'm more of an in-the-moment guy," Blaine says, turning and shrugging. He has his bag shouldered and his shirt is riding up even more, tight across the front of his chest in a really, really nice way. "I'll be right back, I promise -- I was going to find you after, but this works out better. I'll be fifteen minutes, tops, will you be alright?"

Kurt raises an eyebrow at him, "No," he says, "clearly I'll waste away here." 

Blaine looks like he's considering walking towards Kurt instead of the door, but opens the door instead. 

"You're really not a list person?" Kurt adds, just as Blaine is about to leave, mouth a little dry for no reason.

Blaine shakes his head. "Nope," he says. "Are you? Am I failing some sort of Kurt Hummel approval test right now?"

Kurt feels his mouth twist up at the corners, a little. "No," he says, steadily, "and I'm not much of a list person, but I suppose I occasionally enjoy following them."

"Huh," Blaine says, and Kurt gets the impression that Blaine feels like he's lost the conversation, which is probably true. "Okay, I'll -- wait here and I'll come back and we can -- whatever."

"Specific," Kurt says, repeating his sentiment from the night before, but Blaine is shutting the door behind him before Kurt can say anything else. 

  
-

Kurt figures he has about fifteen minutes to figure out what to do, sitting on the edge of the bed looking across at Blaine's desk and beside him, at the beside drawer. It only takes him about a minute to slide over and reach into Blaine's night stand. 

He feels a little lost in his own head when he does it, standing up to shrug off his blazer and lay it over Blaine's desk chair. He unbuttons his shirt, too, leaving the tie wrapped loosely around his neck and the shirt on his shoulders, but settling back on the bed with it open over his chest. He twists, a little, feeling silly and then feeling anxious and then something hotter, down at the base of his spine. He wants Blaine to see him like this, after months of dancing around each other, doing whatever it was they've been doing for so long. 

Kurt folds and unfolds the list in his fingers. He's using the first number on the list, the most neatly written and the most vague, laid out, and Kurt doesn't know who or what it applies to, but he definitely feels like he's laid himself out for Blaine, sliding up against the headboard a little and bending one knee before relaxing it, indecisive. If anything, Blaine will see him with the list, and maybe they'll -- talk about it, do something. 

Kurt holds his breath when he hears Blaine's door handle, unsure of how much time passes at all. This is probably the stupidest thing he's ever done, and he can't help but close his eyes when he hears the door open all the way, curling his fingers into the comforter on his side. 

There is a beat of silence that stretches for much longer than it seems, and Kurt opens his eyes warily when he hears the door close. 

"Holy shit," Blaine says, standing still against the back of his door, one hand halfway raised with his keys dangling off one finger. "Kurt, what are you --"

Kurt is momentarily glad he at least held on to the tiny bit of sanity that told him he should keep most of his clothes on, because he's pretty sure he's flushing past his stomach, fighting to keep his body still on the sheets. "Hi," he says, a tiny bit breathless. 

"I think the water fountain I stopped at had some pretty powerful stuff in it," Blaine says, and his face would almost be comical if it didn't make Kurt feel like something large and heavy was trying to escape his throat. 

"I --" Kurt says, shifting so he can reach over to the end table beside Blaine's bed, picking up the sheet of paper he'd left there and holding it up. "I found this, the other night, when you were in the bathroom."

Blaine crosses the room faster than Kurt is prepared for, reaching out for the list but not grabbing it. "I didn't mean for you, or anyone, to see that," he says, voice unreadable. 

"It's all I can think about," Kurt says, honestly, waiting a few seconds to see if Blaine will say anything. "I know how I must look --" 

"Amazing," Blaine says, cutting him off before Kurt can finish his sentence, decidedly not what Kurt was going to say at all, and Kurt raises an eyebrow at him. "Seriously, you do. I don't know what is going on right now at all."

Kurt takes a breath in. "Look, this is really just because -- I don't want to do whatever we've been doing. The other night was the start of something, wasn't it? Yet here we are, the next day, doing the same thing we've been doing for weeks, and --."

Blaine leans down, taking the list from him and cutting him off with the action. "We weren't skirting," Blaine says, glancing down at the list, distracted for a moment.

"I'm going for number one, here," Kurt says, laughter bubbling up a little, "laid out. I just, I knew talking about this wasn't working for us, and I thought --"

Blaine looks down at him, and Kurt definitely isn't imagining the way his eyes move, down and then back to Kurt's face, his mouth parting just a tiny bit. "I'm mortified you found this, to be honest. I -- sometimes I just think about these things and I started writing them down a few months ago," Blaine says. "It's nothing, really."

"It's definitely something," Kurt says, though he doesn't mean to. It's true, though, because it really is. Kurt keeps thinking about Blaine rolling over in bed and writing little additions to the list, wondering what Blaine pictures when he does. They are both silent for a minute, Blaine reading his own list and not looking at Kurt, and Kurt feeling ridiculous on the bed.

Blaine sits down heavily on the bed next to Kurt's hip, unexpectedly dipping the mattress and making Kurt slide down against him. 

"Kurt," Blaine says, shaking his head, "we can't just -- you've never even --"

"So, I can now," Kurt says, raising his chin, "with you."

"It should be special for you," Blaine says, "especially for you. It shouldn't be because of some list I made."

"What is this, an 80s movie?" Kurt asks, feeling impatient and feeling too many things. He wants this, and right now Blaine is doing his best to talk him out of it, and -- "If you don't want to, Blaine, then that's fine. But this is equally about me."

Blaine closes his eyes for a moment. He laughs, once, out of place and soft. "You have no idea," he says, "do you? Half the things on that list were written down after I met you. Because I met you."

Kurt swallows at that. "Those things, on your list," Kurt says, quieter now, "I want to do them with you."

Blaine shakes his head, eyes still closed. "I want to do them with you, too," he says, "but --"

"No," Kurt says, sitting up a little more, ignoring the way his button-down falls farther down his shoulders, "I think we should. Just go for it."

"You don't know what you're asking for, Kurt," Blaine says, eyes opening again, looking directly at Kurt. "Hell, I don't even know exactly what I'm asking for."

"Isn't that part of all this?" Kurt asks, "figuring these things out with someone you trust? I trust you, Blaine, I --"

Blaine reaches up and presses two of his fingers over Kurt's mouth, stopping him. "I really don't know what I'm doing here," he says, speaking slowly and measured. 

"Neither do I," Kurt cuts in, speaking around Blaine's fingers, "obviously." 

"We can stop at anytime," Blaine adds, and Kurt nods. Blaine sets the list back down on the table, face up, and then flips it back over. 

"You're --" he starts, but seems unable to finish, looking at Kurt with a mixed expression. "I'm going to kiss you again," he says.

"Finally," Kurt says, and he means to say it lightly, but it comes out mostly serious and on an exhale of air he didn't realize he was holding in. Blaine takes his time, though, free hand reaching out until Kurt can feel the barest press of Blaine's fingertips along his bare hips, Blaine dragging them upwards over his ribs and then under his tie, tugging at the material to pull Kurt up further. He doesn't take his fingers away from Kurt's lips at first, instead pressing his lips to Kurt's around them, and Kurt can only feel the barest bit of skin until Blaine pulls his hand away to rest around Kurt's back, pulling him closer still, and actually kissing him. 

It feels better than last time, with Blaine's palm hot on his back, his other hand curled in a fist around Kurt's tie. The air in the room feels cold in counterpoint to everything about Blaine: his hands, his lips, the barest brush of his knuckles over one of Kurt's nipples, intentional or not. 

"It shouldn't be this easy," Blaine says, softly, just as Kurt parts his lips, shifting on the bed until he can balance himself enough to wrap his arms around Blaine's neck, pulling him closer until he can feel the worn cotton blend of Blaine's too-small shirt against his bare skin.

"Says who?" Kurt asks, taking the opportunity to lick over Blaine's bottom lip, something Kurt liked last night, pleased when he feels Blaine's end of the kiss turned into a grin. 

"A bunch of idiots, apparently," Blaine says, pulling back for a moment and settling fully over the bed, hovering over Kurt's lap. "Because this is --"

"Yes," Kurt agrees, sliding down the bed between Blaine's legs around him, settling to where Blaine can dip down easily and go back to kissing him, one hand running over his side again, all light, prickling touches spreading heat in patterns over his skin. "What do you want to do first?" Kurt asks, eyeing the paper on the table. 

Blaine breathes out, and Kurt feels the grin there, pressed against his bottom lip. "Nothing, yet," he says. "Just this." 

Kurt wants to open his mouth and protest, because Blaine isn't getting it, Kurt doesn't just want to kiss and wait for more, he wants to know all about the things Blaine likes and wants and wants to do. Except, Blaine's hand falls lower, fingers pressing low on Kurt's stomach with his thumb over the button on Kurt's fly with light pressure. 

"And maybe this," Blaine adds. 

Kurt doesn't know what he's referring to, could be anything, but he doesn't open his mouth again, instead tilting his hips up into Blaine's hand as Blaine's lips leave his and trail down his jaw to his neck, instead. 

The heel of Blaine's palm presses against Kurt's dick through his pants, and Kurt knows he should be expecting it, and he knows he started getting hard before Blaine was even back in the room, laying on the bed just thinking about what could happen, how much he wanted Blaine to want him back. He knows these things, but he gasps out anyway, reaching out to wrap his fingers around Blaine's forearm, half to brace himself and half to get Blaine to press harder, curl his fingers in.

"Can I?" Blaine asks, still rolling his palm and fingers down on Kurt's cock through his pants, pressing slick, open-mouthed kisses against his neck. 

Kurt isn't exactly sure what he's referring to, but he nods, because yes, Blaine can. Blaine can do pretty much anything. 

Blaine moves his hand up to focus on Kurt's button, twisting the material around it until it pops out, and pulling his zipper down with less difficulty. Kurt tilts his hips up, letting Blaine tuck his fingers under the loops on Kurt's pants and drag them down his thighs, leaving them bunched up at his knees. 

Blaine groans a little, low in his throat when he presses his hand back into Kurt's dick, more heat through the material, and Kurt is definitely hard, twisting his hips up into Blaine's hand. "More," he says, quiet but rough. 

"I --" Blaine starts, but leans up over Kurt more fully, anyway, "yeah. Alright." He gets back up to Kurt's mouth, sliding one thigh between Kurt's legs and settling his other leg opposite it, his knee touching Kurt's hip. 

Kurt's mouth opens loosely when Blaine's arm moves quickly, hand slipping under the waistband of his boxers to get to his cock, suddenly skin on skin, finally, but more than Kurt can take. Blaine's hand isn't like his own at all, larger and firmer and wrapped around, coming up over the head of Kurt's cock in a way that makes him pull down against the mattress just as much as it wants to make him twist up, the next pass of Blaine's hand slicker and faster, Kurt's precome on his palm.

Kurt notes the differences between Blaine's movements and his own, practiced and perfected ones, paying almost too much attention just to keep from completely losing the fight against the small keening noises urging themselves out of his throat. 

He loses the time, aware of Blaine's mouth moving against his own, working up to kissing Blaine back. He's aware of the movement of Blaine's hand on his dick, fast, and every pass of Blaine's thumb under the head of his cock, heavy and sensitive, and when he comes his back arches up with his knees raising, and Blaine strokes him through it, settling his weight down against Kurt's thigh, letting Kurt feel that he's hard through the haze settling over all of his nerve endings.

"Do you -- mind?" Blaine asks after a moment, voice tight and dark, and Kurt looks at him slowly, body still light and not really connected to anything around him, but he feels his eyes widen just a little when he realizes, nodding against the pillow behind his head. 

Blaine moves backwards along Kurt's side quickly, not even bothering to slide his pants down, unbuttoning his own fly in a practiced and much smoother movement than he'd used on Kurt, bunching his jeans down his hips. 

Kurt groans, low and small at the visual, dragging himself up against the headboard a little to watch as Blaine pulls out his cock, hard and pressing against his stomach, the head shining and slick. Blaine doesn't waste time, wrapping the hand he'd just had around Kurt around himself. Kurt leans up further when he realizes he can see his own come on Blaine's fingers, realizes Blaine is using it to speed up the motion of his hand. Blaine is kneeling but bent over, not looking at Kurt's face, so his head snaps up when Kurt leans up over the mattress enough to put one of his hands on Blaine's thigh, dragging it up slowly and meeting Blaine's eye with a questioning look.

"Do you mind?" Kurt echoes, unsure when he went from wanting to melt back into the sheets to wanting to move his hand the rest of the way up Blaine's thigh more than anything else. 

Blaine makes a sound that catches in his throat, stilling the motion of his hand and dropping it down, fingers curling around his balls and just at the base of his dick, leaving, Kurt realizes, room for Kurt's hand to take over. 

Blaine is more vocal than Kurt was, though Kurt was holding back, afraid to start making noises earlier in case he couldn't stop. "Kurt," Blaine says, repeating Kurt's name on low little gasps as Kurt wraps his fingers around Blaine's cock, fascinated by the weight, different than how his own cock feels, a little backwards. It takes him a minute to adjust to the angle, to figure out that he can wrap his fingers around a little tighter than he's used to, Blaine rocking up against his hand and bent over again, leaning his cheek on Kurt's shoulder over the fold of his shirt, breathing hot against Kurt's neck.

Kurt isn't expecting it when Blaine comes, because he just says Kurt's name again, a sound that Kurt wants to never stop hearing or repeating in his brain. He watches as Blaine comes, moaning open-mouthed against Kurt's neck, his body visibly shaking with it, up on his knees and swaying a little.

"Oh my god," Blaine says, and he sounds happy more than anything else, where Kurt is pretty sure anything that came out of his mouth at this point would just be a mix of shock and residual arousal. 

Blaine sort of falls forward against him, all his weight falling against Kurt's side, but Kurt feels boneless and hot everywhere under his skin, and for all that Blaine feels heavy and even hotter, the press of his body feels nice, too. They lay there for enough time that Kurt's skin starts to cool, the heat only sticking where he can feel Blaine's clothes against his bare skin.

“After school tomorrow,” Kurt says, when he’s pretty sure his grasp of language is back, “we can --”

“We could wait a few days,” Blaine says, mostly muffled into Kurt’s neck. 

Kurt rolls over on his side, movement hampered by the twist of his pants still around his knees. “Blaine,” he says, “that’s not the point.”

“I fail to see your point in not waiting a few days,” Blaine says, easily, leaning up and kissing Kurt quickly, but falling heavily back down on his pillow, “but I can’t deny you, either, can I?”

“Good,” Kurt says, pleased and warm and a little achy from being so tense. “Exactly.”

Kurt wants to stay in the bed, enjoying his first ever post-orgasm time with someone else next to him, especially with the way Blaine in warm up against his side, his breathing still unsteady against Kurt’s skin. “I --” Kurt starts, feeling suddenly awkward again. He doesn’t have experience in leaving these sort of situations, but Blaine sits up slowly and extends his arm, letting Kurt pull himself up.

“I know,” Blaine says, grinning softly, “you have to go. As much I wish you didn’t.”

“Maybe I could stay over this weekend,” Kurt says, a little hesitant. He stayed over Dalton once, when the Warblers were practicing for Regionals, one night in Blaine’s room after an all-night practice, and both of them passed out in Blaine’s bed almost as soon as they made it back to the room. Kurt had woken up with Blaine next to him before, and it had been different that time, overly warm and with the drag of something more, but Kurt was back home in time for breakfast, stuck trying not to think too hard about how Blaine had woken up with heavy-lidded eyes and a flush over his cheeks and what Kurt could see of his chest.

“I,” Blaine says, leaning in and pulling up the sides of Kurt’s button-down back over his shoulders, dragging his knuckles with deliberate pressure over Kurt’s skin, “would like that.”

Kurt holds his breath while Blaine buttons his shirt for him, both of them kneeling across from each other, the mattress dipping in between. He goes for his own fly, though, before Blaine can get to it, laughing as a release of tension when Blaine puts both his hands up, shaking his head. 

“So, tomorrow --” Kurt says, straightening out and sliding off the edge of the bed, unfolding his blazer from Blaine’s desk chair. “What do you want to do? From the list, I mean.” He’s trying to approach this diplomatically, almost, because maybe if they plan it they can avoid the weight over everything settling between them for the past few weeks. The waiting and the wanting, at least on Kurt’s part, something Kurt doesn’t want to revisit now that he can have -- this.

Blaine shakes his head, once, sliding on shoes beside his door. “Nothing yet,” he says, just like before. 

“Blaine,” Kurt says, impatient. 

“All of those things,” Blaine says, waving a hand vaguely at his end table, “you can’t just do them. You haven’t even --”

“Well, let’s fix that,” Kurt says, almost taken aback by how the thought of having actual sex with Blaine runs down his spine and into his toes so quickly. 

“We’ll see,” Blaine says, grinning. 

Kurt hums, but figures it’s best not to answer, already knowing he’ll have something to think about when he goes to bed tonight, something to look forward to. 

Blaine walks down with him to the parking lot, and Kurt almost expects them to kiss at his car, but they don’t. Kurt watches Blaine in his rear-view mirror until he’s pulled all the way off campus and can’t see the silhouetted speck of Blaine in the dark anymore. He turns off his radio and rolls down his window, letting the air wash over his face as he drives home, feeling suddenly pleased with himself for everything working out so well, thinking in rushing too-fast thoughts about everything that’s yet to come.

  


two.  


Kurt feels like his face is permanently stuck on grinning mode, which is a little unusual for him.

“You’re really into breakfast this morning,” Finn comments, sitting on the stool across from him at the kitchen bar. He’s up early today. Kurt commutes back and forth to Dalton most days, usually leaving the house before Finn gets up and coming home with just enough time to work on assignments and pass out, leaving little time for conversations with Finn (not that they usually have too much to talk about for long periods of time) or even with anyone else. “Did you finally get a solo or something?”

Kurt tries to straighten out his face, though he’s not sure it really works. “No,” he says, with a tiny rush of fondness for Finn at the fact he’s been paying attention to Kurt’s drastically different place within the Warblers.

“You could always --” Finn starts, half around a mouthful of bacon, gesturing in a way that Kurt somewhat understands.

“You know I can’t,” Kurt says, cutting Finn off. They’ve had this conversation before. Kurt has this conversation over the phone with at least six different people.

Finn shrugs, adding more bacon to his mouth. “You know everybody -- we all miss you, man.”

There are days when Kurt thinks about it, coming back, stopping the ridiculous amount of commuting and lack of sleep and lack of personal style afforded to him, but then he thinks about Blaine and Dalton itself, but especially Blaine, especially this morning, images from yesterday afternoon on auto play in his brain. “I know,” Kurt says, slipping off his stool to grab his bag, checking the time on the microwave over Finn’s shoulder. “I’m happy right now, though.”

“Yeah,” Finn says, looking for all the world like his allotment of sensitivity and empathy have already been almost used up for the day, not really looking directly at Kurt. “Yeah, that’s -- good. We all know you are.”

Kurt offers him a small smile as he turns to walk out of the kitchen, grabbing his keys from the hallway and walking outside, pleased already with his morning, ready for the day to top the day before by a long shot.

  
-

  
“You’re late,” Blaine says, waiting at the top of the parking lot for Kurt. He waits there most days, now, and it took Kurt a while to realize he wasn’t there because it was on his way to class or because he had to be. The parking lot was at least a five minute diversion from the small housing building and the main school, which meant Blaine deliberately went out of his way to meet Kurt by his car every morning that he could.

Lately, Blaine had also taken to bringing him coffee, too -- just the black brewed kind the school served with a little sugar and milk in it that Blaine had to add himself -- and Blaine really was worth all the heart palpitations and episodes of forgetting to breathe he caused Kurt.

“Coffee,” Blaine says, pressing it into Kurt’s hand, his fingers lingering over Kurt’s knuckles.

It’s different, this morning: the air around and between them, the way the upwards curve of Blaine’s lips feels like it means something more, something secret. The way Kurt can’t help but close his eyes for a second when he meets Blaine’s gaze.

“We’re both going to be late,” Kurt says, blowing through the hold in the lid of his coffee to cool it, watching Blaine out of his peripheral vision.

Blaine knocks their shoulders together lightly, walking closer to him than usual, They don’t talk as they make their way up to the school, ignoring the other guys walking by, but Kurt keeps catching Blaine looking sidelong at him, just as Kurt does, and they both laugh a little each time, breathless with a new sort of tension.

“I’ll see you at lunch,” Blaine says when they have to part at the stairs, and when he leans in Kurt is sure for a second he’s about to be kissed, but Blaine just raises a hand and grazes his knuckles over the low part of exposed skin at Kurt’s neck and down his shoulder, fleeting and quick.

“See you,” Kurt says, seconds too late, because Blaine is already halfway up the stairs, and Kurt needs to turn away to get to his own first class on time.

  
-

  
Kurt does see Blaine at lunch, though nothing feels much different from normal. They sit next to each other along with the majority of the Warblers, and Kurt will never get over how he’s pretty much sitting at the table full of popular students here at Dalton, even if they all try not to subscribe to labels. (Wes had explained how they worked like that once, how they tried not to have any social grouping or sexual labels, and Kurt had privately thought it was just a convenient way to explain the notorious drunken weekend party incidents that were always gossiped about all over campus on Monday mornings. When he’d confided this in Blaine, Blaine had laughed and agreed, launching into speculation about who had already made out with whom at their lunch table alone.)

“Practice after school,” David says near the end of lunch, picking french fries off of Wes’ plate while Wes pays attention to his phone, rather than the table.

(Blaine and Kurt share a look that they both laugh at, silently agreeing that they were right a few weeks ago to put on David and Wes at the top of their no-label-excuses-make-out speculation.)

“Does anyone have any conflicts?” David asks, and Kurt wants desperately to say, yes, he has a conflict -- he wants to go cross off half of Blaine’s list all at once this afternoon -- but no one commits to having any conflicts, and when the bell rings Kurt heads off to American History with the barest brush of Blaine’s hand against his lower back in goodbye.

The rest of Kurt’s classes go by excruciatingly slowly but practice goes by fast, and before Kurt knows it, Blaine is pressing against his shoulder, bouncing a tiny bit. “That went well today,” Blaine says, his tone light and conversational, people still gathering mislaid blazers and book bags around them, headed back to their rooms or back home.

“Can you stay for a while?” Blaine asks, voice pitched lower in Kurt’s ear when the group has mostly thinned out.

“Yeah,” Kurt says, repeating himself when his first try comes out a little too much like a whisper, “I said not to expect me for dinner tonight.”

Blaine twists around him, walking backwards, his face in Kurt’s view. He wiggles his eyebrows. “Guess what I’m expecting for dinner tonight,” he says.

Kurt groans, rolling his eyes. “That was horrible,” he says.

Blaine shrugs, “Whatever, it’s true. I’m going to devour you.”

“Just stop,” Kurt says, feeling a little giddy and unnecessarily breathless when Blaine extends his hand, pulling Kurt forward and out of the room. On their walk down, Kurt wonders if it means Blaine has decided to go along with what Kurt wants. He’s so caught up in wondering what it will feel like -- if Blaine will know what to do, how he'll do it -- that he doesn't even really notice when they get back to Blaine's room and ends up standing in the doorway for a good few seconds after Blaine steps inside.

  
-

  
“Are you freaking out?” Blaine asks, shrugging off his blazer in the center of the room, looking over at Kurt in the doorway.

It had been easier, last time, when Kurt had an objective and Blaine had gone along easily, almost too easily, with it after Kurt's plan sort of worked. The moments between Blaine walking in and Kurt pressing up into his hands, half-mindless already with a mix of triumph and excitement, had been nothing.

This time Kurt isn’t sure where to start. He’s not already half undressed and he’s not sure what --

“No,” Kurt says, though his voice doesn’t exactly inspire much confidence.

“Kurt, we don’t have to do this. We -- I have no problem with waiting. I want to, don’t --”

“Shut up,” Kurt says, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. He leans forward to start in on the buttons on Blaine’s shirt where Blaine had already started in on them, mostly for something to do with his arms. “I’m pretty sure I failed every quiz I had today because all I could think about was this.”

“Still, though,” Blaine says, taking Kurt’s hands from his chest and curling his fingers around both of Kurt’s wrists, pressing them together and holding them away. “I don’t want you to regret this.”

“Are you trying to actually talk me out of this, still?” Kurt asks, laughing a little, rolling his wrists under Blaine’s hands.

“I’m just,” Blaine says, leaning forward to drag his lips over Kurt’s cheek, moving from one side to the next, kissing down his jaw line, “making sure.”

“I’m sure,” Kurt says. He is. Maybe he didn’t expect this to happen so soon, certainly not a week ago, but he also didn’t expect to have Blaine in his life, Blaine who has a list of all the dirty things he wants to try, things he wants to try with Kurt, of all people.

Blaine lets go of Kurt’s wrists, leaving Kurt’s skin warm, and he moves his hands to Kurt’s jacket, unfastening the button holding it together and slipping it off Kurt's shoulders.

Kurt knows, logically, that time passed between undressing in the middle of Blaine's floor, knows his mouth opened a little as he watched Blaine slip his undershirt off, the muscles in his arms and stomach moving fluidly and with a strength it didn't look like he should have, clothed, but that made Kurt's mouth dry. He knows he felt heady by the time he was pulling Blaine's belt out of its buckle and Blaine was dragging his pants and briefs over his half-hard cock. He knows that Blaine was the one that walked them both over to the bed, pressed together until Kurt hit the edge and fell back, and all of the sudden Blaine was on top of him, all naked skin that Kurt wasn't sure if he should focus on seeing or feeling all at once.

Blaine doesn't go right for Kurt's cock, though Kurt feels the weight of it against his stomach, the slow ache of blood running away from his thought processes to become a more persistent drag of his senses downward. Instead Blaine massages his hands over the tops of Kurt's thighs, kneading against the skin there in a way that makes Kurt spread his legs a little wider, tilting his hips up when Blaine's hands drag upward, over Kurt's hipbones and down again, to the inside of Kurt's thighs.

"In the drawer," Blaine says, low, "there's a thing of lube. Can you reach it?"

"I know," Kurt says, and Blaine blinks up at him for a moment before laughing, ducking his head down and pressing his lips dryly against the inside of Kurt's thigh.

"I forgot you were such a snoop," he says, hot against skin that Kurt isn't used to being so focused on.

“You fold this like normal people fold toothpaste,” Kurt says, running his fingers along the side-seams of the tube when he pulls it out, letting Blaine take it from his hands and uncap it, watching him squeeze and rub his fingers together, all the while looking down at Kurt, eyes sweeping over the entirety of him in a way that Kurt can barely stand to watch.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Blaine says, and Kurt expects him to add to it, to be more specific, something, but he just trails off, eyes wide and dark as he leans down Kurt’s body.

Blaine reaches out to spread Kurt’s thighs out further against the mattress, leaving little slick fingerprints in his wake, dipping down and licking a wet stripe from the base of Kurt’s dick to the tip, touching him for the first time and making him moan, low and quiet, before spreading Kurt’s cheeks with his fingers, one finger running over the curve of his ass and settling against his asshole, pressing against it but not into it. “Have you?” Blaine asks, keeping his finger just pressed there, unmoving.

Kurt tips his head back against the pillow, tilting his hips up. “Yes,” he says, “when I can, I --” but he stops short to moan, letting out a short noise when the beginning of Blaine’s finger slips inside, pressing into him easily. "In the shower," he continues, mouth moving almost involuntarily so he doesn't focus too much on the fact Blaine's finger is inside him and do something awful like come from the thought of it, "in bed, sometimes -- when there is time."

“I’ve thought about you doing this to yourself, once or twice,” Blaine says, almost conversationally, rolling his finger up and starting to twist in a second, smooth with lube in a way Kurt isn't exactly used to, tightening around Blaine's fingers in a different way than around his own. “I didn’t know for sure if you had, but...”

Kurt makes a mildly strangled sound in agreement. He’d always liked the feeling of his own fingers, the press and the stretch and the ache, but this is so, so much different, because Blaine’s fingers are wider, more confident in their movement, and Kurt has no control over them.

Kurt back arches up when Blaine presses his fingers in perfectly, his hips sliding down, and Blaine leans his head down against the crease in Kurt's thigh, right by his cock, sliding his fingers in the same way again, dragging them back out slowly. Kurt is used to having more to focus on when he fingers himself -- his other hand on his cock or the ache that always settles in the awkward twist of his wrist. Sometimes he just focuses on the water from his showerhead running down his shoulders and down his legs and it's never, ever felt like this, the only thing Kurt can focus on is the press of Blaine's fingers, the stretch of a third finger, more than Kurt usually uses -- two is enough for him to come, squeezing around and thinking about more, sometimes in a vague way, but lately with Blaine on his mind.

"Okay?" Blaine asks against his hip. Kurt reaches down to press his fingers into Blaine's hair, more-or-less groaning out his assent rather than managing to get the word 'yes' out in a complete form.

Blaine keeps up the motion of his fingers until Kurt finds himself spreading his legs even wider and shifting his hips down in more than just a light rock, digging his heels into the mattress to press down as far as he can on Blaine's slick fingers, wanting more of the feeling, a sort of ache running down his legs and up his spine and right to his dick, hard and untouched and only an inch from Blaine's face.

"I'm gonna --" Blaine says, pulling out his fingers and shifting on the bed, leaning up by Kurt's head to get to the drawer and get a condom. Kurt doesn't follow his movements, though, instead looking between their bodies at Blaine's cock where he hadn't been able to see before and bending his leg at the knee so his thigh brushes up against the swollen head, and Blaine lets out a tiny noise. Kurt watches, too, when Blaine leans back to slip the condom over his cock, the mattress shifting and bouncing a little when he goes to settle between Kurt’s legs.

“I want to be able to see your face,” Blaine says, hooking his arms under the crook of Kurt’s knees and dragging him forwards, “but we can turn over, if you want.”

“It’s okay,” Kurt says, a little rushed. “Like this is fine.”

The initial press of Blaine inside is slow, and Kurt feels tense all over, curling his fingers into the bunched up comforter below him as Blaine breathes out above him, steady but tense in his shoulders and his arms, too, where Kurt can see him straining even as Blaine is talking to him, soothing strings of words that Kurt doesn’t really hear. He’s too focused on the stretch of Blaine inside him how it’s so different from fingers, smooth and wider and almost pleasant in the way it makes Kurt ache a tiny bit, makes his thighs shake under their tense strain and makes him feel full; the strange and brief but noticeable moment where Blaine’s fingers had left him stirring up something deeper and different inside his chest, quelled now by Blaine’s slow press inside.

"Okay," Kurt says somewhat tightly, ready for Blaine to move, the stillness a little too much for Kurt to deal with, trying to figure out the best way to get the air out of his lungs. "Blaine?"

"Just a minute," Blaine says, sounding as out of breath as Kurt feels, his hands pressing almost too tightly around their hold at Kurt's hips. Kurt focuses on the feel of that for a moment and finds he doesn't mind at all, the slow ache of it a counterpoint to the stretch and drag of Blaine inside, unmoving.

Blaine lets out a low, near-growling noise when he pulls back, his next slide in still unexpected but so much better, slick with the lube Blaine had pressed inside with his fingers and the lube on the condom, a dull and pleasant feeling spreading over Kurt’s skin.

Kurt can’t seem to get out any of the words or sounds he means to, though he’s trying not to hold back, not with the way Blaine makes constant sounds on each press inside, feeling deeper each time. Instead, Kurt’s mouth opens on breathless inhales and small noises he doesn’t want to compare to whimpers -- but they are, pressed out of his throat against the unfair drag of Blaine’s cock inside him, his muscles squeezing tight around him all at once and then around nothing at all.

It’s better than Kurt imagined, for everything he’d been told and thought to expect, and when Blaine shifts his own hips and Kurt’s legs slip down around him, his ankles hooking behind Blaine’s back, it’s even better -- every thrust inside, every snap forward of Blaine’s hips sending white-hot heat down Kurt’s spine and into his cock, heavy and full and aching a little, even though Kurt can’t bring himself to wrap his own hand around himself, wanting to make this last.

He manages to get out a few words, “There, yes,” and some sort of half-version of Blaine’s name that gets caught at the end of a gasp when Blaine stills his hips for a second and rocks upwards, groaning and ducking down to get at Kurt’s mouth.

Kurt can’t help it; he reaches up to link his arms around Blaine’s back, bending impossibly forward while Blaine rocks his hips up and kisses him, the both of them mostly breathing against each other’s lips.

Blaine slides a hand from Kurt's hip across his stomach, reaching to curl his fingers around Kurt's dick, adding another layer to all the things Kurt is feeling. It's enough that Kurt has to tip his head back away from the pressure of Blaine's mouth and moan, because it's all too much at once.

"Blaine," he manages.

Blaine's lips find his throat, his fist tightening but barely moving in time with his rocking thrusts with not much balance between the two motions at all, and Kurt can't hold back, not any longer. When he comes it's a different -- more -- than ever before, the way he can feel his muscles tense around Blaine's cock inside of him, the way it makes Blaine groan in a low vibration against his throat.

Blaine stills his rocking movement, his arm still bent and fingers around Kurt's dick. Kurt tilts his hips up, unsure if he's trying to get away from the overwhelming feeling of orgasming with Blaine inside of him and around him, how he can still feel it, completely unaware of anything but his own nerve endings, or if he's trying to feel more of it.

"I can't," Blaine says -- or something to that effect, Kurt catches belatedly, his nails involuntarily digging in to Blaine's back when Blaine tips back a little away from Kurt and starts rocking back into him in earnest. Kurt is sensitive everywhere, and it only takes a handful of thrusts inside for Blaine's back to straighten out above Kurt, his mouth falling open around something silent and a little wild over his face. Kurt moans, can feel the barest hint of Blaine coming inside him within the condom, Blaine's fingertips pressing hard into his skin.

Blaine stays still above him, still inside, for longer than Kurt can manage to count in his head. There’s sweat he didn't even notice forming cooling against his skin, he can feel every brush of Blaine's chest on his skin on his heavy exhales, and every brush of the sheets against his skin feels like so much more than usual as Kurt comes down from the heat racing its way under his skin.

Blaine just -- Kurt just had sex with Blaine. Blaine fucked him, for lack of a term Kurt can fit to the context. There weren't candles and it wasn't exactly romantic, but Kurt's entire body seems strung out in a way that makes him want to melt back against Blaine's pillow and sheet and never get up, a sort of satisfaction Kurt has never felt. When Blaine shifts over top of him, sliding out, Kurt tenses and curls his toes down at the feeling, breathing out only when Blaine falls heavily down into the little space next to him, one leg tucked in-between Kurt's thighs.

Blaine exhales loudly beside him -- a moment or a few minutes later, Kurt can’t tell. “So,” Blaine says, “wow.”

Kurt agrees with a small noise, not entirely trusting his voice, and he turns his head away so he can direct the grin he feels playing along the corners of his mouth up at Blaine’s ceiling. “Well, that’s out of the way,” he says.

“Out of the way?” Blaine asks. “Really? That’s all?”

“I guess it was pretty nice,” Kurt says, still keeping his face turned away.

Blaine rolls closer to him, turning to lean up over Kurt’s side. Kurt wonders how he has the energy. “I can see your lies, Kurt,” he says, his own face a mirror to how Kurt feels when Kurt looks up at him.

Kurt just rolls his shoulders back into the mattress, suddenly all too aware that his skin is cooling but Blaine’s skin is still warm on top of him, pressed against his thigh and his hip and his chest.

“What time is it?” he asks, reluctantly.

Blaine makes a face at him, his lower lip jutting out, and Kurt rolls his eyes. He doesn’t want to move, not with the pleasant sort of aching warmth that’s spread all over his body, but Kurt reaches up and presses his arm into Blaine’s shoulder until he rolls back enough that Kurt can climb over him and get to the floor, his movements slow and awkward.

He can feel Blaine’s eyes on him from the bed as he dresses, picking up the pieces of his clothing scattered around on the floor and trying to figure out which tie is his, deciding on the one he’s pretty sure is Blaine’s, because it feels different and right under his collar when he ties it.

“You should probably comb your hair,” Blaine says from the bed.

Kurt had been avoiding turning back and looking at him, but he does automatically anyway, breath catching in his throat a little when he sees how Blaine is spread out against his sheets, still naked, one of his knees bent up and his torso twisted to the side. He grins over at Kurt and shrugs. “Sex hair,” he offers, and Kurt tramples down on the chorus in his brain trying to let him know he just had sex. He’s well aware.

Later, though Kurt tries to flatten his hair with a little water in Blaine’s tiny adjoining bathroom, he checks his hair in his rear view mirror and wonders if anyone at home will be able to tell how it’s more out of place than usual, or if the high, flushed patches on his cheeks will be gone after his commute home.

He’s not sure the thrill of finally and of self-satisfaction creeping through his head will last if he’s called out on it halfway through the door.

  
-

  
Mercedes calls when Kurt is already settled into bed that night, forgoing a head start reading The Great Gatsby for English and instead showering, revelling in the aches in his muscles that he's never had before, that he's all too aware of, and curling up under his comforter. His hair is still damp, and he’s going to pay for it in the morning when it’s all sticking up against his pillow, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Kurt almost doesn't pick up, but the front of his phone has her picture on it for the caller ID, and she's making a sort of bitchy, impatient face that Kurt remembers from when he first took the picture, and he grins fondly and picks up anyway.

She's just checking in, and Kurt follows the conversation as much as he can, not feeling the same hollow feeling he'd had up until now about everyone at McKinley whenever Mercedes or Rachel or someone would call before.

Mercedes catches on, though, stopping short in the middle of a conversation about a new guy in the jazz ensemble she's kind of into. "Are you okay?" she asks, warm and suddenly worried.

Kurt grins against his phone, even though she can't see. "I'm amazing, Mercedes," he says, glad all at once to be able to tell someone who understands, "you have no idea."

She makes a sound on her line that sounds sort of triumphant. "Details," she says, "all of them, now."

"Not now," Kurt says, laughing at her a little, "I'm exhausted."

"Soon," Mercedes says, "because there is no way you're leaving me in the dark. It's Blaine, right? Finally?"

"Finally," Kurt agrees, though he knows he won't be telling Mercedes exactly to what extent 'finally' entails. Maybe sometime when they weren't on the phone, if she asked, because out of everyone, Kurt knows Mercedes would listen and care and probably make dirty jokes about it with him.

"We're getting together this weekend," she says. Her tone suggests that Kurt has no way of backing out, but he rolls over under his blanket and laughs again.

"I'm kind of staying over all weekend," he says, for the first time feeling kind of overwhelmingly excited at the prospect, a whole weekend to spend with Blaine, to go over the list and maybe -- whatever else.

"You work fast, Kurt," Mercedes says after a second, sounding about as enthusiastic as Kurt feels inside. "Get it."

"Thank you," he laughs, feeling warm now not just from his shower and from the inescapable feeling of Blaine's hands and mouth all over his skin, but also from the fact he has such great friends, even if he's miles apart from them every day.

"Don't think this gets you out of spilling details," Mercedes says.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Kurt agrees, and when he hangs up a few minutes later he falls asleep almost instantly for the first time he can remember in a while, and even Finn's snoring from his room next door doesn't keep him awake.

  


 **three.**

  
Kurt isn’t sure he would ever let his own kid stay the weekend somewhere surrounded by temptation and in a room with only one bed, but he figures what Burt doesn’t know won’t hurt him. (It would probably actually scar him, and Kurt doesn’t intend on accidentally giving his father another heart attack.) He gives a cheerful check-in over the phone during the six minutes it takes him to walk from his after-class meeting with his guidance counselor to Blaine’s little room.

Kurt barely gets through the door before Blaine is moving forward. “I can’t believe you’re here all weekend,” Blaine says, striding forward and pressing him against the wall right beside the open door frame.

“Asking permission to stay on campus to get a head start on our final english paper certainly has it’s advantages,” Kurt agrees, straining forward a little to get closer to Blaine, their chests warm together.

“Does your father know that Dalton never requires papers for a final grade if you have an A average?” Blaine asks, his face hovering closer, enough that Kurt drops his bags at his feet and reaches up to lace his arms around Blaine’s neck, pressing him forward just lightly.

“I may have forgotten to mention that part,” Kurt says. “Come on.”

“Bossy,” Blaine says, but he grins and kisses Kurt quickly and going to pull away right after. Kurt has a pretty solid grip around his neck, though, and he slides one hand through Blaine’s hair to pull him back. 

Kurt melts back against the wall when Blaine gives up trying to pull away, raising his own hands to curl around the sides of Kurt’s face, thumbs pressing little circles into Kurt’s jaw as he kisses him, tongue sweeping over his bottom lip and through his mouth, demanding.

“Come here,” Blaine says, stepping them both backwards until they get to the bed, Kurt trying to balance walking with dragging his lips over the corner of Blaine’s mouth and trying to figure out how to unbutton Blaine’s shirt between them. 

Once Blaine's shirt is off, he follows Blaine onto the bed, letting Blaine pull him down over top of him, spreading his legs and balancing around Blaine’s thighs, dipping his neck to get back to Blaine’s mouth. 

“Are you sore?” Blaine asks, running a hand over the back pocket in Kurt’s pants, squeezing and kneading the skin there. “Can you still feel me inside if you think about it?”

Kurt opens his mouth and makes a small sound against Blaine’s jawline. “Maybe I could use a refresher,” he says, surprising himself and maybe surprising Blaine more, because Blaine laughs underneath him, pressing hurried kisses against his neck. 

“I’d be honored to give you one,” Blaine says, vibrating on Kurt’s skin. “Though I thought we’d officially cross something off the list tonight if you felt like it.”

Blaine’s hands roll with more pressure against Kurt’s ass, and Kurt closes his eyes for a moment, now acutely aware of the fact he can almost feel the ache and strange feeling of emptiness when he thinks about Blaine inside. Kurt presses his hips back against Blaine’s hands, wishing he didn’t have so many layers in the way, wishing Blaine’s hands would dip just a little further down. 

“What did you have in mind?” Kurt asks, trying not to get too distracted, running through the stand-out options on Blaine’s list in his head. 

Blaine hums but doesn’t answer, running his hands up Kurt’s sides. “So much,” he says, pulling up the sides of Kurt’s button-down to get to the skin of Kurt’s ribs, light touches that feel even better, somehow, than Blaine’s hands on his ass. 

“Here,” Blaine says, reaching further up, making Kurt lean back against his hips, and twisting his fingers around Kurt’s tie. “Give me this.” 

He slips it off Kurt’s neck, and Kurt reaches out, sitting further back in Blaine’s lap, taking the tie back from him and laying it over his shoulder so he has a free hand to pull at Blaine’s tie, too, unwrapping it from Blaine's bare neck and wrapping it around his hands a few times. “Does this list number involve ties?” 

Blaine nods. “I was giving you a hint, yes,” he says, working at the buttons on Kurt’s shirt from bottom to top.

Kurt lets Blaine get his shirt all the way off his shoulders before shifting, rolling over the side of the bed and onto the floor. "Is this?" he asks, though he isn't sure what he's really asking at all. "What do you -- want, exactly?"

Blaine sits up against the bed, swinging his legs over the side. "I kind of -- If you want to --"

Kurt raises an eyebrow at him, though he feels apprehensive at the same time.

"Your mouth," Blaine says, looking directly up at Kurt, "could you? I've been thinking about how you'd feel, how good it would be."

"With the ties, too?" Kurt asks, trying not to picture himself giving Blaine a blow job, and all the ways it could go badly, considering how well everything has gone up until now. 

Blaine nods, suddenly looking past Kurt's shoulder, eyes a little wide. "I'd want to touch you too much, I think," he says, "it would be so hard not to."

"You could, though," Kurt offers, thinking about Blaine's hand on his head, pressing him down, wondering if it would be better or worse and feeling unexpectedly hot all over when he pictures it. 

"No," Blaine says, "I kind of want to -- not. To see how that would feel, to not be able to touch you."

Kurt doesn't really get it, though he wants to understand, and his throat feels a little dry when Blaine stands from the bed, turning around and holding his hands together behind his back. 

"You should," he says, turning his head around to grin wide at Kurt. 

Kurt steps forward after only a second and holds out one of the ties, pressing the material against Blaine's wrists. 

"Wait," Blaine says, unclasping his hands and shuffling around for a moment, slipping his pants down over his ankles and leaving only his boxers on. He turns around and faces Kurt, leaning in with one hand raised and pulling Kurt forward by his chin, kissing him for a moment.

"Is this weird for you? We don't have to, or we could wait --" Blaine says, trailing off and studying Kurt's face. "It's just, this was on the list, and you said --"

"No, it's fine," Kurt says, nodding. "Not weird, just. Not what I was expecting." Blaine opens his mouth to respond but Kurt shakes his head, pressing at Blaine's shoulder until he turns back around, automatically reaching around to hold his hands together against his back again without Kurt asking. It makes Kurt's toes curl in his socks, the way Blaine is so quick to do what he wants, even when Kurt isn't sure how to get it to happen. He's struck with how new this all is, still, how he keeps being caught off-guard by things he never realized he wanted or, really, could have. He reaches down to loop the tie in his hands around Blaine's wrists, tying more than a few knots while Blaine stays silent and still.

"There," Kurt says, tying the last knot and tugging to make sure the silk doesn't slip loose. "Try."

Kurt watches the movement of Blaine's arms behind his back for a second before looking up to where Blaine has his head twisted down and around, trying to see. 

"What about the other tie?" Kurt asks, keeping his voice level. He's -- he isn't trying to prolong this, not really, isn't trying to give himself time to calm his nerves and rushing thoughts, and how completely wrong is it that Kurt feels more nervous about doing this than he felt about last night. Yet he still wants a little direction, and he waits.

Blaine shrugs, his motion constricted, and Kurt reaches to get the other tie off of Blaine's pillow. He runs the material over his fingers for a few seconds while Blaine watches with his head twisted. If Blaine weren't watching, he'd probably -- oh. 

Kurt hesitates for a second before stepping around until he's standing in front of Blaine. He raises his hands and spreads the tie out lengthwise, pressing it forward and over Blaine's eyes. If Blaine weren't watching, Kurt would definitely not feel the same pressure he's suddenly feeling, wanting -- so much, after how good Blaine had been the night before, careful not not entirely restrained -- to be good for Blaine like this. "Okay?" he asks, quietly pressing the material entirely over Blaine's eyes, but not going to make a knot at the back of Blaine's head just yet. 

Blaine is quiet for a beat, and Kurt almost takes the tie away in the time it takes Blaine to nod. "Yeah," he says, voice lower than before. "Yeah -- I think that would be good. Really good."

Kurt twists a knot against the back of Blaine's head, pressing his fingertips lightly against Blaine's scalp and keeping them there for a moment. "Can you see me?" he asks. 

"No," Blaine says, tipping his head back against Kurt's fingers. 

Kurt pulls his hands back and looks at Blaine, stepping back to take in the whole picture: Blaine standing against the side of his bed, wearing only his boxers, his shoulders pressing forward with the angle of his arms tied up behind his back, his eyes covered and his mouth slightly open. He's at least half-hard, too, which Kurt can't help but notice when he lowers his gaze down towards Blaine's hips and thighs.

Kurt reaches out after he's done looking and runs two fingers across the center of Blaine's chest, not expecting it when Blaine jumps back, his knees hitting the mattress as he breathes out, too-loud in the silent room. 

"I wasn't expecting that," Blaine says, shifting a little in place. His nipples are pebbling against his chest, and Kurt watches in fascination, reaching out to press the pad of his index finger against one.

Blaine hisses out a breath, at that, and Kurt continues to do the same thing: he pulls his hands away and stands silently in front of Blaine, watching him, waiting for seconds at a time before running a nail lightly across the dip of Blaine’s neck or over his nipples, dragging the palm of his hand against the low part of Blaine’s stomach, coarse with hair. He runs his fingers under the hem of Blaine’s boxers, right against the softer skin of his inner thigh, and Blaine leans heavily back against the side of the mattress, letting out a little groan.

Kurt dips his fingers under the waistband of Blaine's boxers, next, pulling at the elastic and rubbing his thumbs against the light red marks left against Blaine's skin. "Should I?" he asks.

"Yeah, yes," Blaine says, "definitely."

Kurt doesn't pull Blaine's boxers off yet, though, instead pulling his hands away from Blaine skin, fascinated when Blaine groans, his hips tilting up against the air. 

"What are you --" Blaine starts, but he cuts himself off on a low groan when Kurt reaches forward to press the heel of his palm over the hard line of Blaine's cock, "shit."

Kurt grins, even though Blaine can't see. This is -- better than he expected, and he feels less apprehensive, something heavy and warm settling in his chest. He pulls Blaine's boxers off slowly, watching the drag of the waistband over Blaine's cock, full and heavy between his thighs. Kurt kneels down on the floor to help Blaine step out of the material, and he's suddenly aware of his position, unintentional even though he meant to end up like this, anyway. He looks up at Blaine, considering, though he knows Blaine can't see him, and he's completely level with Blaine's cock, aware, too, of how he could just tip his head forward and --

Blaine's body is moving, whether unconsciously or not, Kurt doesn't know, but he's twisting his hips forward just slightly, the muscles in his upper arms tight and noticeable, and even though Kurt can't see his hands behind his back, he'd bet they are curling and uncurling under the material of the tie. Kurt tips forward on his knees, reaching out and placing his hands on Blaine's thighs, feeling the muscles tense under his fingers when he hums and Blaine realizes how close he is. Kurt wonders what Blaine is picturing, if he's really thought about Kurt on his knees like this before, if that's what's causing the little low noises Blaine keeps making. Kurt takes a breath in that comes back out in a burst of air over the visibly slightly-slick head of Blaine's cock, deciding what he wants to do.

"Oh --" Blaine says, his breath coming out shallow and short, his hips shifting. "Just --"

Kurt doesn't let him finish his thought though, looking at Blaine's cock in front of him and making the choice to just lean forward, taking the head between his lips without warning Blaine, and Blaine's hips buck forward as soon as Kurt's lips press all the way against the soft (surprisingly soft, though Kurt knows what Blaine's cock feels like in his hand, the weight and the feel of it, but this is so, so different) skin there. Kurt has to jerk his head back, digging his nails into the skin of Blaine's thighs unintentionally. 

"Sorry," Blaine says, gasping it out a little, "shit, Kurt, sorry, I just -- I can't see you, I wasn't expecting that."

Kurt raises one of his hands, pressing it against Blaine's hip and leaning forward. "I'm going to, now," he says, a vague sort of warning he hopes Blaine understand before he leans forward to take Blaine into his mouth again. When Blaine doesn't press forward again, Kurt moves his hand from Blaine's hip and drags it down, wrapping his fingers around the base of Blaine's cock to make the drag of his mouth a little steadier and easier. Kurt tries to adjust to the stretch of his jaw, the weight of Blaine on his tongue, tries to figure out the easiest way to move. 

When he focuses, using his tongue to press up as he drags his head back and then forward again, Kurt is sort of overwhelmed by the entire thing, the taste and the feel and the way Blaine is making almost pained noises each time Kurt moves or squeezes his fist a little. He can feel how Blaine is straining not to move, his thighs tense, how his noises get louder when Kurt takes the hand he doesn't have wrapped around Blaine's dick and runs it up and down his leg, taking time to take his hand away and press it back against Blaine's skin without much planning.

"Kurt," Blaine says, soft and strained, "this is so amazing, you have no idea, I wish I could -- everything."

Kurt can't help but laugh a little, at that, at the fact Blaine is so amazed and Kurt himself can barely keep up with what he's doing. He can't really laugh, though, but a noise works it's way up his throat anyway, around Blaine's dick, and Blaine stills the little rocking motions of his hips (the ones he can't seem to help, as much as Kurt can feel him trying not to move at all under Kurt's hands) biting out a noise that makes Kurt want to groan in response, right around Blaine in his mouth again.

Blaine seems unable to stop talking, now that he's started, repeating Kurt's name and rocking his hips a little quicker, grating out nonsensical sentences as if he's talking on autopilot and not caring what he's saying. “Kurt, jesus, I want to be able to see you so badly - I want --"

Kurt pulls off, tongue darting out over his own bottom lip, his mouth feeling full and a little numb. "I should've put that tie over your mouth," he says, going for light and teasing but his own voice is so -- wrecked, almost, slow and thick. Blaine laughs at that above him, deep in a way that isn't really amused at all, a little choked in his chest. 

Kurt goes back to sliding his mouth over the head of Blaine's cock, not giving any warning, ready for it when Blaine's hips buck forward and he apologizes around a groan.

“No, no wait," Blaine says, only seconds later, just as Kurt slips his mouth further down Blaine cock, closer to the curl of his own fist, "shit, Kurt, wait, I have to see you when I - I'm going to --”

When Kurt pulls away, the sound Blaine makes at the sensation of Kurt suddenly pulling off races down Kurt’s spine, making him all too-aware of how hard he is in his own pants, just from blowing Blaine, listening to him -- he enjoyed it. He gets off the floor, his knees stiff, and he stetches his legs out, kicking them a little, glad Blaine can’t see the motion. 

“What are you --” Blaine asks, trailing off, leaning forward away from the mattress like he’s trying to see where Kurt is going, even though he can’t.

Kurt undoes the fly on his slacks quietly, dragging it down slowly and letting his pants pool at his ankles. He shimmies out of his boxers, too, tighter black ones that he intended to let Blaine see tonight, but not really caring anymore -- that moment has passed -- and when he takes them off he picks them off the ground for a moment, kicking his socks and pants to the side and stepping forward. He bunches the material of his boxers in his fingers and brushes it lightly against the inside of Blaine’s thigh, which makes Blaine rock forward, mouth parting.

“Come on, Kurt,” Blaine says, still strained, leaning forward, his dick hard and slick (slick from Kurt's mouth, god) and flushed between his thighs. Kurt looks at the entire picture Blaine presents now, and he wants to get back on his knees just as much as he wants to untie Blaine and let him -- let him do anything, really.

Kurt deliberates for a second, setting his boxers down on the ground and trying to decide if he should let Blaine see first or untie his arms, his mouth going dry watching the futile twist of Blaine's hips into the air.

“What first?” Kurt asks, struggling to keep his voice level, “hands? Or eyes?”

“I -- I don’t know. Either. Kurt.” Blaine lips are drawn together, and Kurt stands in front of him for a second more, drawing the time out. He likes seeing Blaine like this, unsure and waiting for Kurt to decide what to do. He isn't exactly sure what it means, but he likes it.

He settles on Blaine’s arms, trying not to touch any of Blaine’s body, wanting Blaine to see him undressed without knowing beforehand when the tie blindfold finally comes off. Blaine shakes his wrists out of the material before kurt can even finish untying the last knot, and before Kurt can get to his head, Blaine gets there first, slidding the tie forefully over his head without un-doing the knot and blinking his eyes quickly against the light for a moment before looking forward.

Kurt has a moment to grin sort of lopsided at him, his lips feeling too-wide and sort of too full on his face. He only has a moment to grin, though, because Blaine lunges forward, grabbing Kurt around his waist before Kurt knows what’s happening and pressing their mouths together without finesse, hard and desperate.

“Fuck,” Blaine says, dirty and slick against Kurt’s lips. “You,” he says, punctuating word with a roll of his hips against Kurt’s, his cock sliding hard against Kurt’s hipbone, wet from Kurt’s mouth, oh -- “You have no idea what that just did to me.”

“I think I do,” Kurt says, breathless, wrapping his arms around Blaine’s back to anchor himself, feeling sort of shaky and a little bit proud. 

Blaine shakes his head into Kurt’s face, but doesn’t say anything else. Instead he pulls Kurt forward, twisting him around and pressing against his chest until he falls back on the bed, barely giving Kurt enough time to back up on the mattress before pressing over him.

“I have to -- ” Blaine starts, leaning back on Kurt’s thighs, wrapping his hand around his own dick and starting to fist himself. Kurt can't figure out to breathe while he watches, pressing his lips together because -- Blaine, god, the way he's jerking himself off right over Kurt's chest, head tilted back, groaning with his jaw clenched. The way the head of his dick appears through the curl of his fist, dark and slick makes Kurt want, more than he wanted when he was on his knees before. 

"Blaine," he says, not surprised when his voice sounds sort of desperate and broken, not even bothering to be embarrassed by it, not with how Blaine sort of shakes over him in response. Kurt reaches up and rests his hands on Blaine's thighs, scratching his nails down a little in the same places he had before, where Blaine couldn't see, and Blaine's head tilts forward, looking down at Kurt's hands on his thighs and at his own hand around his dick. 

"Kurt," Blaine says, perfect and low in his throat, and Kurt barely has time to register the fact that Blaine is coming because he's coming on Kurt, for the first time where Kurt can really see, Blaine's come striping up against his chest and against his collarbone, some of it clinging over Kurt's own cock. 

Kurt isn't prepared, either, when Blaine starts moving right away, sliding off of Kurt's thighs and down, leaning in and taking the head of Kurt's cock between his lips, completely unexpected and wet and -- Kurt hadn't even really gotten around to thinking too much about himself, how he'd been desperately hard since halfway through blowing Blaine on the floor, afraid to touch himself even over his pants just because the noises and responses coming out of Blaine were too muchand he was so focused on Blaine. This, though, this is too much, because Blaine is groaning around his cock like he's still coming, maybe, like he can't help himself. 

It's messy and shallow, Blaine barely moving his head -- Kurt isn't even sure where he has the energy, because Kurt hasn't even come and he feels like he wouldn't be able to move like Blaine is moving. Blaine's tongue is doing most the work, rolling over the head of Kurt's cock insistently, right under the head and over the slit, not enough pressure but too much sensation all at once. Kurt comes sooner than he means to, his back raising off the mattress while he rolls his hips up into Blaine's mouth, reaching down blindly to try and get Blaine to pull off, but Blaine just swallows around him, letting Kurt come in his mouth. 

The shock of coming so fast stays with Kurt even after Blaine raises his head, Kurt's dick sliding out from between his lips in a slow drag.

"What -- what was that," he manages, hoarse, hoping most of the words make it out intelligibly when Blaine lands heavily against his side. 

"You," Blaine says, which doesn't make much sense, but makes Kurt roll his shoulders back into the mattress, anyway, feeling boneless. 

  
-

  
"We should have eaten first," Kurt says, a few minutes or a half hour later -- it's hard to tell, but he feels half-asleep, and Blaine is warm against his side. He doesn't feel like moving at all to get food, but he feels like pointing it out. "Doesn't the cafeteria close at seven?"

Blaine hums. "We could order in," he says. His voice is still low and comfortable and Kurt feels warm from the way the sound washes over him. "Pizza, we should get pizza."

Kurt makes a face at the ceiling, even though he knows Blaine can't see. Blaine nudges Kurt's side with his elbow, anyway, though, shifting over on the mattress. 

"Come on, Kurt, live a little," Blaine says, sounding way more awake than Kurt feels, miles away from the echoes of how he's sounded before bouncing around in Kurt's head. "Think about it: post-orgasm pizza."

"That makes it sound less appetizing," Kurt says, though indulging in pizza as a start to what is bound to be a fantastic weekend doesn't actually sound like too bad of an idea.

"No," Blaine says, sitting up against the headboard in one sudden motion. "It sounds delicious. We're ordering pizza."

"Will they even deliver it here?" Kurt asks, sighing heavily and looking up at Blaine, but unable to not grin a little.

Blaine frowns back down at him, shaking his head. "Not to the rooms anymore," he says, "not since the scandal last year. We have to pick it up at the parking lot."

"Scandal?" Kurt asks. He's trying not to be distracted by how Blaine is still naked, all long lines moving upward in Kurt's view. 

"Oh," Blaine says, the warm, slow tone of his voice mostly gone, "it was great. A senior last year who was boarding was caught hooking up with the pizza guy. It sucked because we couldn't get pizza delivered at all for a while, until they made the parking lot rule. No one knew who the senior was, though, and there were bets being placed all over the campus for weeks."

Kurt laughs. He can definitely see the bet thing. "Why doesn't anyone tell me these things? Dalton needs some more of that excitement." 

Blaine skims his hand down over Kurt's bare shoulder, unexpected and light. "I think we could provide enough gossip for the entire campus," he says. "It's a goodthing we're not the current source of excitement."

Kurt can't immediately think of a response, caught up in the idea of the student body of Dalton knowing about his and Blaine's current after school activities. He thinks about getting to walk to class with Blaine's hand in his. Thinks about Blaine kissing him goodbye against his car door at the end of the day. They -- he can't really think of a reason why they can't be doing that, but by the time he even thinks about addressing everything suddenly racing through his mind, Blaine is rolling off the side of the bed (still naked, and Kurt isn't sure if he's more amused or a little residually turned on by the sight) to get his phone. 

"Cheese or veggie? Or white cheese? Or white cheese and veggie?" Blaine asks, his phone already raised up against his ear. Kurt isn't sure if he's surprised by the knowledge that Blaine is the sort of person to have a pizza delivery place on speed dial. Kurt shrugs in response, though, still thinking even when Blaine hangs up a few minutes later with a triumphant sort of grin. 

"What?" Blaine asks, when he sees Kurt's face -- which, admittedly, probably looks pretty strange. "You don't have to go down and wait in the parking lot. I'll do it, even though it's cold and dark and someone might kidnap me."

Kurt wasn't even thinking of that, though he really doesn't actually want to go wait outside for pizza. He smiles over at Blaine anyway, trying to get back to the boneless brain-melty feelings from before. "That's thoughtful," he says. "I could -- pick out a movie while you're sacrificing yourself in the entirely unsafe gated Dalton parking lot. If you wanted."

They never actually discussed what the weekend would entail, and Kurt immediately wonders if he's overstepping some boundary they've both inadvertently created, because Blaine's face looks puzzled for a second as he pulls on his pants. They've watched movies together over the last few months, out on Kurt's couch and even pressed shoulder-to-shoulder on Blaine's bed before, when they had skipped the last few periods before a Warbler practice a month ago. (The underlying tension then had been almost unbearable then, stretching between them noticeably, and it's different from how Kurt feels now that he's allowed to want and have and touch, but for a moment he realizes he feels the same sort of apprehension lying low in his chest at the thought of the rest of the weekend.) 

Blaine nods, grinning enthusiastically after a second. "But nothing depressing," he says, "I can't do depressing on a Friday night."

"You just don't want to let me see you cry," Kurt says, glad to have a reason to get out of his own head. Blaine looks mock-affronted. 

"I'll have you know I cry in a devastatingly beautiful way that is unfit for others to see," he says. Kurt watches the rhythmic way Blaine's hands catch the zipper on a worn hoodie, zipping it up over his bare chest, distracting.

Kurt raises an eyebrow at him from the bed. "So that time Wes accidentally kneed you in the stomach during practice and you cried was supposed to devastate everyone with it's beauty?" he asks. "Because I'm pretty sure that's when everyone started calling you the ugly duckling behind your back."

"Wait," Blaine says, "people are calling me what behind my back?"

"Oh," Kurt says, grinning slightly, more relaxed again, "never mind." For a moment Blaine looks like he's going to come back to the bed, his eyes bright and amused, and Kurt stills, aware of the fact he's still naked, relaxed and stretched out while Blaine looks at him from across the room, fully clothed. 

Blaine doesn't move forward, though. He laughs, instead, and turns to the door. "I'm not going to ask. You should -- you should probably get dressed while I'm gone, though," he says, one hand around the door handle, eyes running obviously up from Kurt's calves to his face. Kurt feels himself flush hot briefly. "Or we won't get to do much movie watching or eating at all."

It takes Kurt a few minutes to get off the bed after Blaine leaves, still not used to the warm and slow sort of feeling that takes so long to go away, the way he can still feel Blaine's hands and mouth over his skin. He thinks about choosing a movie -- a musical should be good, even though he doesn't know what Blaine has on his laptop -- he thinks about the weekend ahead of them, too, what they'll do next, what they'll do in-between, and decides suddenly that the low tension curled in his chest isn't worth looking into, not right now. Not when Blaine is on his way back up with pizza, and Kurt feels like indulging in grease and carbs and a musical will only lead to better things.

 **three point five.**

  
“Stop making that face,” Kurt says, glancing up from his copy of The Great Gatsby to narrow his eyes at his computer screen, where Blaine is making a truly ridiculous face back at him.

“You won’t pay attention to me,” Blaine says. “Just let me tell you what happens in whatever part you have to read tonight and then we can talk.”

“Or,” Kurt says, setting his book down on his knee anyway, “you could stop making faces at me while I read, which is creepy by the way, and go do your own work.”

Blaine makes an exaggerated frowning face at the screen. Something about being on camera seems to bring out his silliest side, which Kurt figured out after they first met fairly quickly, tending to avoid answering Blaine’s Skype calls in order to preserve his own sanity and not give Blaine time to realize how he actually maybe found it a little adorable. 

“I should remind you it’s your fault I’m stuck doing all of this on Sunday night at the last minute,” Kurt adds, when he can’t find where he was on the page, glancing back up at Blaine on his screen.

“I didn’t hear much complaining,” Blaine says, shrugging. He looks relaxed, his hair loose and damp against his forehead, and Kurt feels his body relax a little, too, when he thinks of the last 48 hours spent with Blaine, despite the stress he’s fighting over his mounting school work.

“Give me ten minutes,” Blaine says, leaning closer to his screen, “and I’ll go to sleep and leave you to your worldly literature.”

Kurt makes a show of rolling his eyes and bookmarking his page, holding the book up for Blaine to see before setting it on the opposite side of the bed. “New York is worldly?”

“We’re in Ohio,” Blaine says easily, “so yes, Kurt, New York is worldly.”

Kurt leans forward, closer to his screen, knitting his hands together and resting his chin on them. “What did you need to talk about?” he asks. Now that he’s not actively pretending to pay attention to his reading, Kurt can study Blaine more closely.

Blaine is sitting at his desk with his knees up in his desk chair wearing a visibly worn short-sleeved Dalton shirt that Kurt has never seen before and his knees are up against this chest, enough that Kurt can see the boxers he’s wearing, a pair Kurt is pretty sure he helped Blaine get out of in record speed on Saturday afternoon. He studies Blaine’s room, too, at a different angle than Kurt is used to seeing but easily familiar. The barest edge of the door frame is visible, right where Blaine had pressed Kurt up against the wall a few days earlier. The small throw rug where Kurt had rested on his knees just the other day, hands running up Blaine’s thighs sporadically where he couldn’t see, watching Blaine’s cock flush deep and red in front of him. 

“I would give anything to know what you are thinking about right now,” Blaine says, his voice dropped noticeably low, even with the bad audio between them both.

Kurt realizes he was staring off into the distance of Blaine’s room on the screen, and he ducks his head. “I was thinking about Gatsby,” he says, thinning his lips out. 

“You were biting your bottom lip and flushing,” Blaine says back, grinning on his side of the screen now, voice still pitched low. “Surely you weren’t thinking about me?”

Kurt shrugs and manages to keep his face straight. Blaine’s grin slips from dark to something closer to fond and warm. 

“Anyway,” Blaine says, drawing the word out, “I want to talk about how I’m kidnapping you tomorrow night and not letting you leave my room.” 

“Kinky,” Kurt says, but he grins. (He’ll have to come up with another reason to stay over at Dalton, but it’s getting close to the first drag of finals, and Kurt is pretty sure no one is going to question him extensively yet. If anything, he’s saving gas money. Dalton is expensive enough.)

“I --” Blaine starts but stops rather quickly, reaching a hand around his head to scratch at the back of his neck. “I kind of wanted to talk to you about tomorrow in advance.”

Kurt already figured that out, so he waits for Blaine to elaborate. 

“I kind of --” Blaine starts again, but he scrunches up his face and starts over. “Last time you were so... God, Kurt, that was so hot. I want your fingers this time, if you -- I kind of want to see if I can take them all.”

Kurt very delicately keeps his own mouth from gaping open. He remembers the word written on the list, a question mark scribbled next to it, but as with most of the things on Blaine’s list, Kurt wasn’t sure if it meant Blaine wanted to do whatever it was or have it done to him. “Have you ever?” Kurt asks, trailing off, not entirely sure what he means to finish with.

“With myself, yeah,” Blaine says, and his voice is lower and quieter now, which Kurt understands, wanting to go find some headphones just because he feels like he shouldn’t be having this conversation in his open room, despite the fact Finn is out for basketball practice and his dad and Carole are on some sort of married-date. 

Blaine’s hand leaves his neck and comes to rub at his face, and Kurt watches the blurred and pixeled motion of his fingers until his own eyes blur. “When I have time,” Blaine continues, leaning forward in his chair, “I like three, just there, stretching, and --”

“Blaine,” Kurt says, a little breathless. He didn’t know, he didn’t even really think about Blaine like that, even the other night when Blaine was whimpering under his hands and mouth, he always just figured -- “Yeah,” Kurt says, “I’ll do that.”

“I want to feel you,” Blaine says, “I want to know if I can take it.” 

Kurt didn’t really notice he’d shut his eyes until Blaine lets out a small groan and Kurt’s eyes snap back up to the screen, taking in the visual of Blaine in his chair, his knees spread open now with his feet still impossibly tucked up against the legs. His hand is palming his dick through his dark boxers, head tipped back and mouth open like he can’t help it, thinking about Kurt and Kurt’s fingers inside him and --

“I have to -- I should go,” Kurt says, not daring to take his eyes off the screen. 

Blaine tilts his head up a little, eyes hooded, and from Kurt’s view it looks like his fingers are curling around his dick in rough, grabbing strokes with no finesse, and Kurt can’t look away. “Do you have to go?” Blaine asks, voice heavy. “You could watch me. I could show you what I like.”

“Blaine,” Kurt says, helplessly, half-hard in his jeans with little blood left to spare in his brain, because, shit,  _Blaine._

“Come on,” Blaine says, tipping his head back away from the screen again, thumb moving fast over what must be the head of his dick under the material. “Stay and watch.”

“I --” Kurt says, “let me get headphones.” He doesn’t want to go away from the screen at all, but he scrambles over to his desk in record time, practically lunging the last foot to his bed to get his headphones plugged in, sliding away the few papers and knocking his copy of Gatsby onto the floor. 

When he gets to the webcam screen again, Blaine isn’t actually in view. Instead Kurt can see a sort of close-up, pale blur that he squints at until the camera moves away, showing Blaine’s now-naked chest closest to the screen, where he’s shifting back and forth. 

“Boxers,” Blaine says after a second, backing up and back into view, completely naked now as he settles back in his desk chair, this time lifting his legs and spreading them over the sides of the chair. It shouldn’t be so hot -- the awkward positioning and the fact Kurt feels vaguely dirty for watching like this, the way porn always sort of creeped him out -- but somehow it is. 

“I’m gonna --” Blaine says but trails off, wrapping his hand around his dick, fully hard and flushed between his legs, what Kurt can see of the head slick and a little shiny. Blaine fists himself for a minute, his head tipped back against the top of the chair so Kurt can’t see his face, only the line of his jaw and some of his parted lips, the way his tongue darts out to wet them a distracting line of motion. 

Kurt reaches down to press his palm against his own dick through his jeans, can’t help it, momentarily wondering why he didn’t feel it necessary to change out of his clothes into something more comfortable when he got home. He’s distracted watching the easy slide of Blaine’s fist around his dick, so he doesn’t catch the way Blaine has his other arm angled up, sucking fingers into his mouth, until he sees Blaine pulling his fingers  _out_  of his mouth, his head tipping back up, staring at the screen. 

“Kurt,” Blaine says, raspy and full, “watch.” 

“I am,” Kurt says. He wouldn’t look away for a fire right now, not with the way Blaine is dragging his fingers down his chest, ghosting over a nipple before skipping all the way down between his legs. His palm comes up to cup at his balls before his fingers settle down at the dark juncture Kurt can’t really make out, not with the quality of Blaine’s built-in camera and the distance he is away from it. Kurt can picture it, though, watching the slip of Blaine’s fingers as one disappears to his knuckle, and Kurt can’t help it, letting out a little groan in the silence of his room.

The earbuds in Kurt’s ears make everything seem even closer, and he holds his breath as much as he can as he watches, straining to hear each and every tiny noise coming from Blaine, listening for the small, slick noises he knows are present, too, so focused that he’s only distantly aware of how Blaine is watching him watch, twisting two fingers up inside himself. 

“Feels so good,” Blaine says, and Kurt digs the heel of his palm harder against the fly of his jeans, his own cock pulsating up against the material, hard and a little bit uncomfortable, making Kurt just that much more aware of his own senses, hearing Blaine sharply through his earbuds. 

“Blaine,” Kurt says, managing only a ragged sort of whisper, lowering his face closer to the screen, not knowing what to take in: the shadowed dip of Blaine’s fingers, his other hand tight around the base of his dick, barely moving’ the rise and fall of his chest, or the way his lips are parted around near-silent gasps. 

“I’m pretending it’s you,” Blaine says, tipping his head back again, eyes falling shut. “Fuck, Kurt, I want you to do this for me, I want your fingers.”

Kurt groans, low in his throat, can’t help it. He still hasn’t moved to un-zip his own pants, though he desperately needs to relieve the pressure. He doesn’t want to miss a second of Blaine on his screen – the twist of what definitely looks like a third finger into his ass, the hand around his dick raising to his chest – watching as Blaine digs his nails into his skin, fresh red marks blooming as he trails his hand up and down. 

“I did this,” Blaine says, low and scratchy and breathless, “in the shower earlier. I can still feel it, I –”

He groans louder, the sound coming out in Kurt’s ears and washing all over his skin, making him shake a little with the tension holding his own body taut. 

“I’m – Kurt,” Blaine groans, barely words at all, and Kurt bites hard into his own bottom lip as he watches the muscles in Blaine’s thighs stand out, watches his back arch up against the chair, his jaw snapping tightly shut as he comes, stripping over his abdomen and chest, stringing against his knuckles. 

Kurt curls his own fingers down against his jeans and jerks forward, body wound so tight he shakes when he comes, unexpected and hard, thighs protesting against holding him up for so long on the mattress, bent forward.

“Holy shit,” Blaine says, slumped forward in the chair now, staring right at Kurt. Kurt forgot for a moment that Blaine could see him  _too_ , and he raises an unsteady hand to brush his bangs off his face, his other hand still pressed against his fly. “Holy shit, you just came – Kurt, that was so –”

“Are you kidding?” Kurt says, his own voice hoarser than he expects. “Seriously? I just watched you –” he shakes his head, and suddenly they’re both laughing, breathless, bent forward towards their respective cameras. 

“I can’t believe we just did that,” Blaine says, looking a little awed. “I... Wow.”

Kurt nods his agreement. 

“So,” Blaine says, falling back against his chair again, limbs stretching out long and comfortable and languid, a gesture Kurt has already gotten used to seeing, post-orgasmic Blaine, something that makes him smile softly at his screen. “Tomorrow night?”

Kurt swallows, thinking about it, about what Blaine wants him to do tomorrow night. “Yes,” he says, “definitely.”

Blaine leans up towards his camera, close up on his face. “Goodnight, Kurt,” he says, grinning soft around his words and the screen goes blank before Kurt has a chance to say anything back around the feelings in his throat.

  


 **four.**

  
Blaine drags Kurt by the tie into his room before Kurt can even really get a step over the doorway, pulling him close and nuzzling against the bottom of his chin, groaning. 

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Blaine says, leaning back to look up at Kurt, eyes wide and dark. “I was going to wait for you in the main hall after dinner and your advisement meeting but I was pretty sure I’d do something drastic between there and my room if I was forced to walk with you all the way here.”

“Forced,” Kurt repeats, “oh, thanks.” 

Blaine only groans again, though, pressing up against Kurt and sort of rubbing along his side. 

“Are you okay?” Kurt asks, running a hand up through the back of Blaine’s hair, stiff and a little gritty with gel. Blaine looks flushed and tired and a whole host of other things, hot against Kurt’s chest through his clothes. 

“Yeah,” Blaine breathes, stepping back and extending a hand. “You should come shower with me.”

Kurt knows Blaine has a shower in his bathroom. Most of the individual rooms have a little stall, but Kurt has also seen his shower, which is about the size of a refrigerator. 

“You’ve seen your shower, right?” Kurt asks, taking Blaine’s hand anyway because it’s outstretched and Kurt likes the way Blaine’s fingers feel wrapped around his own. They don’t do that enough. 

Blaine laughs, low. “We’ll fit,” he says. “Trust me. It’ll be quick.” He tugs Kurt forward, pulling him into the little adjoining bathroom, barely two feet of space between the little vanity sink and the shower stall. 

“Off,” Blaine says, tugging at Kurt’s tie and blazer, “come on.” 

Kurt has never showered with anyone, though he’s leaned back against the tiles of his own shower wall more times than he can count picturing someone else inside with him, wondering what it would be like to run his hands through someone else's soapy-wet hair. 

“We’re not going to fit,” Kurt says, looking at the shower stall behind Blaine to distract himself from Blaine’s hands on his shoulders, pressing his shirt down his arms. 

"Sure we are," Blaine says, letting Kurt's shirt fall to the floor and going for his own. In the time it takes Kurt to fold up his pants, Blaine is completely undressed, sliding past him in the minimal space to turn the shower on, the room suddenly filling up with distracting noise. 

Kurt has seen Blaine entirely naked more times than he can count on one hand now, but as Blaine maneuvers around the little space while Kurt slides his underwear and his socks off, Kurt realizes this is kind of different. This is -- more normal, and Kurt is able to look at Blaine outside of the sort of haze that usually fills up his head when they're naked together. 

"As much as I appreciate being appreciated," Blaine starts, trailing off and extending a hand to Kurt, ready to pull him under the spray.

It doesn't take long for Kurt to decide he doesn't mind the small space of Blaine's shower, not with the way he can't move without behind pressed up against part of Blaine's skin, the water slick between them, Blaine's hands tracing rivulets of sudsy water down Kurt's back in a matter of minutes. 

It's warm under the spray, and Kurt's day wasn't particularly stressful, but he definitely feels more relaxed, rolling his hips up in little circles against Blaine's because he can and because Blaine is so close. Blaine drags Kurt's hands between them, tipping body wash into Kurt's palms and then clasping his hands over Kurt's knuckles, moving their entwined hands in deliberate long, dragging motions over his skin and letting go only when he drags Kurt's hands around over his ass. 

Kurt presses his lips against Blaine's shoulder because it's nearest, just closed-mouth pressure, taking the time to run his hands lightly over each side of Blaine's ass and then squeezing, spreading out the soap until it's all off his hands and reaching out to cup water from the spray and splash it back. He can feel Blaine growing harder against his hip, and it's nice -- still slow, but with a little bit more of an edge, because they both know what Blaine wants and what is about to happen. Kurt dips his hands between the crack of Blaine's ass and presses his fingers in, closing his eyes so he can pay better attention to the feel, barely brushing the pad of his thumbs over Blaine's asshole, brief pressure that makes Blaine's hips tilt more urgently up against his. 

"Shower over," Blaine says, low but loud over the spray of the water. Kurt was just really starting to enjoy himself, but when Blaine shifts his hips, his cock lines up right next to Kurt's own so on the next circle of Blaine's hips they press together, a sliding drag that Kurt feels to his toes. 

Kurt nods his agreement and lets Blaine lead him back out of the shower, watching the languid stretch and movement of his muscles and the way his hard cock bobs between his thighs when Blaine stretches up for a towel.

Blaine drags the towel hanging on the back of the door over Kurt first, patting down his skin in slow motions, not really looking up at Kurt's face, as much as Kurt wants to catch his eye. Blaine spends much less time on himself, barely drying the water from his skin before heading back out into the open space before his bed, leaving Kurt with no choice but to follow. (Not that he'd consider staying in the bathroom, not when Blaine is naked and headed to his bed to wait for Kurt.)

Kurt rolls easily over top of Blaine on the bed when he gets to it, Blaine's hands coming up to wrap over his forearms, levelling him out. Kurt's hard, from the shower, but he feels sort of slow and heady, not like the rush and heat he's come to be used to. Blaine is hard, too, and when he pulls Kurt down into a kiss, Kurt groans at the brush of their dicks together, the light pressure of it, sparking awareness down his spine, still slow and not rushed.

“I know you’ll stop,” Blaine says after a minute, pressed into the corner of Kurt’s mouth. “If I need you to.”

“We can wait,” Kurt says, caught a little off-guard -- he knows Blaine trusts him, he has to know that by now, and Kurt knows he trusts himself, as much as he can, but Blaine is different right now, more subdued, and Kurt can feel the difference between them, though he isn't sure if Blaine is aware of it at all. “We could do something else for now. This is --”

“I want to,” Blaine says, earnest and soft. “It’s weird, but when I first realized, I don’t know, the logistics of what sex could entail for me, I just -- I wanted this.”

Kurt thinks about Blaine planning these things out, wonders if this is how his list got its start, and Kurt is on board. “Okay,” Kurt says, brushing his hand down Blaine’s water-slick back, because he can do this if Blaine wants it, he can, and this is all so new and strange and amazing. Kurt isn’t going to give that up. He wants to do this. 

"Here," Blaine says, pressing his folded tube of lube into Kurt's absently open palm. He must have had it ready by the bed without Kurt realizing, and maybe he took it out last night after he shut his webcam off, after he’d asked Kurt for this tonight. Or maybe he took it out this morning, already thinking about this afternoon while he got ready -- Kurt is almost certain whatever Blaine thought about this morning, Kurt thought about on his drive to the school, too, distracted by details and possibilities and memories.

Kurt uncaps it, leaning back against Blaine's thighs, and when he catches Blaine looking up at him, studying the movement of his hands intently, Blaine grins up at him. "I think I should turn around," he says. 

Kurt rolls to the side so Blaine can move, watching him settle down onto his knees, his head resting against the pillow, neck twisted so he can almost see to the side if he wanted to try to see a little bit of what Kurt is about to do. Kurt takes his time settling behind Blaine, rubbing his hands together over the lube he'd pressed into his palms for an unnecessary amount of time.

"Just --" Kurt starts, tracing the line of Blaine's spine down with his eyes, settling on the curve of his ass. He presses Blaine's legs out a little wider so he can shift closer in-between, his hands leaving little fingerprints of lube that catch a little in the light. 

"One to start," Blaine says, his head bowed down against the pillow. Kurt knows how it works, knows how his fingers feel inside of himself and now how Blaine's fingers feel, too, stretching him open. For all that this is new and different, though, Kurt doesn't feel anything near the same anxiousness he'd felt before blowing Blaine, before tying the makeshift blindfold over his eyes, and the fact that Blaine can watch this time is almost a little grounding. 

One finger is -- easy. The angle of his wrist is different from what Kurt is used to, from reaching below or behind himself, and it takes a little to get used to the pressure of Blaine around his finger from the inside. When Blaine starts to rock back against him in little, minute motions, Kurt adds a second finger, sliding them both in and out slowly, twisting his wrist each time to change up the angle, something he likes to do for himself.

Blaine is mostly silent through the first two fingers, just rocking back and forth, letting out small, almost content noises that don't inspire much urgency. Kurt finds himself thinking about words like security and trust. At the addition of Kurt's third finger, Blaine becomes more vocal, and Kurt can really feel the stretch he's pressing against, using his free hand to drip more lube between his fingers, allowing him to move faster, to curl them up just right until Blaine groans out, too-loud in the quiet room, his legs tensing up where Kurt can see. 

With the fourth finger Kurt has to reach out and place his free hand low in the center of Blaine's back, up against his tailbone to steady the rocking motion of Blaine's hips -- his entire body, really, the little spring in the mattress helping move him fluidly. Kurt keeps his wrist turned at the same angle, his fingers tilted up, and even though his forth finger is only his pinkie, it's harder to move in a rhythmic way, even when Kurt adds more lube. Kurt is distracted by everything about Blaine: the tense arch his spine makes, ending at Kurt's hand, the little bitten out noises, the rock of his hips, the way the lube is dripping down over his balls where Kurt can see, down the underside of Blaine's cock to the already-slick head. The fact that Blaine is so hard from this, his cock untouched but flushed dark, hanging heavy between his body and the mattress, makes Kurt all too-aware of how hard he is, too, though he hasn't been touched since the shower. Knowing that Blaine is hard for him, just from his fingers, is enough for Kurt's breath to become a little more shallow as he presses his four fingers in further.

“Kurt,” Blaine gasps, hot and gritty, and Kurt can just see the way he’s biting against his pillow, the strain and shake in his thighs almost too much for Kurt to take in. 

“Can you take the rest?” Kurt asks, shaky. He doesn’t know if Blaine can, doesn’t know if this will work, not with the way Blaine is wound up so taut below him, the muscles in is thighs visibly straining from holding himself up. 

“I don’t know,” Blaine says, honest and sounding as shaky as Kurt feels. “I -- try? I want to, for you.”

“Not for me,” Kurt says, head bent down so his words get pressed into the base of Blaine’s spine, “this is for you.”

Blaine groans, low, and Kurt twists his fingers a little so he can press his thumb between them, right against the outside of Blaine’s asshole, and Blaine makes a helpless, whining noise, biting down against the his pillowcase again. 

Kurt doesn't try to slip his thumb in alongside his other fingers, through he keeps up the same steady rocking motion that Blaine keeps pressing his hips back up into. Kurt isn't even sure he could do it, press all the way inside, and as Blaine starts to press back into Kurt's fingers with more urgency, Kurt is certain they won't get to that point. Everything right now feels different from what they’ve done before, and Kurt doesn’t know where the line is, not really, but he can feel the difference tight in his chest.

"Hey," Kurt says, when Blaine lets out a low, gritty noise, tangled up in a gasp, "here," and he slides the steadying hand he'd had placed on the lowest part of Blaine's back down and around until his knuckles brush up against Blaine's cock, undeniably hard between his thighs. 

“Oh,” Blaine says, voice high as Kurt curls his fingers around, sliding his hand up and trying to find a rhythm between both his hands. “Oh, don’t.” 

Blaine doesn’t say anything else, though -- instead he presses his hips down so his cock slips through the circle of Kurt’s fist before rocking back up against the stretch of Kurt’s fingers. 

When Blaine comes, Kurt is pretty sure his own body tries to come as well, just from the way Blaine’s thighs open wider, his knees slipping on the mattress, his entire body going tense and then shaking. Kurt doesn’t know what to focus on, and he leans his forehead down against the sweat-damp base of Blaine’s spine, breathing out unsteadily onto the skin there. 

Kurt goes to slip his fingers out, because the way he can feel Blaine clenching around them in little tight spasms is almost too much, but Blaine lets out a sharp gasp and reaches behind himself to grab at Kurt's wrist and keep his hand pressed in the same place. The grip of his fingers is painfully tight around Kurt’s wrist until, but he lets go of Kurt's wrist as the tight line of and arch of his spine starts to relax, and Kurt slides his fingers out slowly, listening to Blaine try and control the breaths coming out of his mouth in tiny, ragged bursts. He's surprised when Blaine turns over, moving slow but twisting forward until he's kneeling somewhat vertically, leaning against Kurt's chest.

“You could fuck me,” Blaine says, his body still shaking, twisting and wrapping his arms more fully around Kurt’s shoulders. “I’m so open, you could just do it.”

Kurt presses his lips against Blaine’s forehead, keeping them there for a moment, wrapping his arms around Blaine’s shoulders in turn, feeling his body begin to relax more. “No,” he says, “that’s too much,” and he honestly doesn’t know if he means specifically for Blaine to take or for Kurt to handle himself, but it’s probably a little bit of both. 

Kurt is hard, so hard against his own stomach, but he can wait. He rolls his wrist a little against Blaine’s back to get the tension out and Blaine presses back automatically into the light touch.

Blaine breathes out against Kurt's chest for longer than Kurt can keep track of, but presses a softer, different noise against Kurt's neck after a few minutes, and Kurt is nearly startled when he feels the loose curl of Blaine's fist around his cock, his arm pressed between them both.

Blaine jerks him off slowly, and even though Kurt feels close to the edge, it takes him a while to come with the way Blaine isn't really in a hurry with the motion of his hand or the pass of his thumb over the head of Kurt's cock on uneven strokes. When Kurt finally comes it's not urgent at all, it's more of a slow roll of his hips into the circle of Blaine's fist, his body going taut but not jarring him, the warmth of his orgasm spreading pleasantly over his skin instead of overwhelmingly. It's enough that Kurt just falls back down against the mattress along with Blaine, content to close his eyes in the loop and weight of Blaine's arm's loosely circled around him and just lay there. 

  
-

  
At some point, Blaine rolls off the side of the bed and gets the light and the blankets, and Kurt can tell he's moving slower than usual, more careful -- that he’s more aware of every motion, just like Kurt had been after Blaine had fucked him. 

“I was nervous about this all day,” Blaine says later, sounding relaxed but his voice a little torn still, an undercurrent Kurt is glad he can recognize, now. 

Kurt looks at the silhouette of his profile in the dark, can only just make out the expression on his face. “You were?” Kurt asks.

“I thought you’d -- I don’t know, I thought you’d think I was kind of a freak. Or that you wouldn’t be able to do it, and you’d feel bad, or that you’d take it the wrong way,” Blaine says. His words come out sleepy and slow, and Kurt closes his eyes while he talks, even though he’s paying careful attention to each one. 

“I only think you’re a freak sometimes,” Kurt says easily, earning himself a slow and half-hearted blind jab from Blaine’s elbow. “How would I take it the wrong way?”

Blaine shrugs along Kurt’s side, long and languid. “I guess that you’d think I didn’t want you in the same way anymore. Because I also wanted this, and it didn’t fit into the -- roles we’d started in.”

Kurt makes a thoughtful noise, thinking about it. He wouldn’t be opposed to being on top of Blaine -- his offer, earlier, had made Kurt’s brain short out briefly -- pressing inside him and opening him up again with his fingers. He likes the way Blaine feels inside him, though, the way it feels to pressed down into the mattress, his senses strung out on everything all at once. 

“If you wanted that,” Kurt says, quiet and low, “I wouldn’t mind.” 

Blaine hums, turning over under the sheets and facing Kurt’s side, laying an arm over Kurt’s chest. “Good,” he says, “but I don’t know how often I’d want to give up having you.”

“Good,” Kurt says back, definitely agreeing with the sentiment, feeling warm down to his toes, leaning into the way Blaine is nuzzling against his shoulder.

Kurt watches Blaine fall asleep, his body twisted limply at an impossible looking angle around Kurt, thinking pleasantly about how he caused Blaine to melt into the sheets like that. Kurt feels equally tired, but as his thoughts shift and he starts to fall asleep, he’s struck with how well they both fit together, not just physically but in everything, the give and the take, and it’s not perfect and it’s certainly lacking, but right now Kurt is warm and sated and a little sticky, and in the morning he’s going to wake up in bed with Blaine again. (It’s something Kurt had never figured into his life, not at this point, thought about how maybe in a few years from now he’d be out of Lima and he’d have someone to wake up next to, but apparently he’s allowed to have that now, even if he doesn’t know where he and Blaine will end up.)

Before he falls asleep, Kurt reaches to his side, making the choice to do it before he really even realizes what he’s doing, tugging open the drawer beside Blaine’s bed slowly, trying not to shift too much and disturb him. He grabs a pen from beside the lamp, smiling a little at the fact Blaine always keeps a pen handy by his bed, now -- considering Kurt’s search for a pen pretty much led them here. He unfolds Blaine’s little list, staring at the blank space left towards the bottom in the half-light from the sheer curtained window, twisting on an angle to sloppily write some additions of his own.

He folds it back up and slips it back into the drawer, setting the pen down, suddenly a little more awake, a little bit of an anticipatory thrill about what he’d written down making it’s way lazily down his spine. Blaine is still warm along his side, though, one arm flung over Kurt’s bare chest, the blankets tossed around their joined hips, and Kurt doesn’t really have time to over-think anything. His breathing matches up to Blaine’s steady breaths against his neck, and the matching rhythm lulls him to sleep in a matter of minutes.

  


 **five.**

  
The rest of the week at Dalton flies by without much incident, even though Kurt is tense with the anticipation of Blaine finally realizing some of the things scrawled out on his list aren't in his own handwriting, are actually things Kurt wants, this time. 

(He's almost sure that Blaine knows he added to list on Thursday, when he pulls Kurt out of his last period by apologetically insisting to Kurt's english teach that Kurt is needed down at the office. Kurt wasn't needed at the office, and he didn't think for a moment that he was, but he's still almost surprised when Blaine takes his arm and steers him into a currently-empty science lab, getting down on his knees and blowing Kurt without much preamble. 

Instead of mentioning the list after Kurt comes -- biting down on his lip hard enough to split the skin, trying to keep quiet and pay attention to the door while also not being able to focus on anything but Blaine's mouth on his cock -- though, Blaine just stands and presses his nose along the side of Kurt's cheek and laughs a little, low. "I'm going back home for an early weekend after today," he says, "I wanted something to think about.")

Kurt is so busy waiting for Blaine to acknowledge what he's added, that he ends up distractedly accepting Mercedes' invite to an early dinner on Sunday night. He'd been trying to avoid her -- not because he didn't want to see her, because he did. He was just pretty certain she was going to make good on her promise of getting details out of him, come hell or high water, and he didn't really have much interest in sharing. Not yet, anyway. 

  
-

  
It's not too crowded on a Sunday night, so Mercedes and Kurt slip into one of the quieter back booths at Breadstix. Which is when Mercedes conveniently chooses to let Kurt know that Rachel will be joining them, by pointing out where she's standing on her tip-toes by the door, scanning the room, accompanied by --

"Really?" Kurt says, turning to Mercedes in their shared side of the booth, "you let Rachel bring Finn along?"

Mercedes makes a face at him. "It's Rachel," she says, "how was I supposed to know?"

It's not like Kurt was especially looking forward to talking with Mercedes in detail about Blaine, especially not in a public place over an early dinner, but she was more insistant and sneaky than Kurt gave her credit for. He definitely wasn't going to be doing any talking with both Rachel and Finn present, though.

When Finn sits down -- after being dragged by Rachel across the room and to their booth, almost knocking over two waitresses with trays in his combination of haste to follow Rachel and obvious reluctance to come over at all -- he looks about as happy to be there as Kurt is to have him there. 

"Rachel," Kurt nods, both in acknowledgment and also with a narrowed look. "Finn." 

Finn shakes his head. "Rachel made me come," he says, "and she promised unlimited fries." 

"I was appalled at Finn's inability to provide thorough updates on your juicy current situation, so I decided to help bring you both together with a little brotherly-bonding," Rachel says, glossing over any sort of greeting and beaming at Kurt from across the table. 

"Yeah," Mercedes says, taking Kurt's thoughts right out of his head in a way that makes him grin, despite his mild annoyance at her, "right. Bringing him along had nothing to do with you, Rachel."

"What current situation?" Finn asks, in the silence that falls between Mercedes and Rachel, "I still have no idea what you're talking about."

"Kurt's been holding back," Mercedes says, matter of fact, and Rachel nods. 

"You're not serious," Kurt says, "I'm -- I'm not going to sit here and just -- Finn's here." He turns again to where Mercedes is sitting beside him, eyebrow raised. "What have you been telling her?"

"Nothing," Mercedes says, "all I said during practice the other day was that you seemed really happy."

Rachel's grin gets, if it's at all possible, wider. "I'm particularly interested in the mechanics of it all," she says, "but you should probably wait until we've ordered to really get into it."

Kurt stares at her. "All of -- no," he says. "What part of your mind jumps from me being happy to that? I can't be happy in other ways?"

Rachel rolls her eyes. "Oh, please," she says, "as soon as Mercedes said you were happy because of Blaine, it was obvious you had furthered your relationship farther than my brief, but greatly inspiring relationship with him went."

Kurt does his very best to not answer any of that, and instead browses the menu in front of him. 

"Wait," Finn says, a moment later, "are you guys talking about -- wait, gross, Kurt doesn't do things like that."

Kurt looks at Finn over his menu, amused for a moment by the genuine discomfort on his face. "I do," he says, evenly, just to watch the expression on Finn's face shift, "but we're not talking about this."

“I can’t believe you unless you provide details,” Rachel says. “Explicit details.”

“I don’t even know what that means, but please don’t,” Finn says. 

(The rest of the night goes much the same way, though Kurt is proud of the way he stands his ground and ignores every one of Rachel's prying and increasingly more graphic questions. Even Mercedes tries to get him to talk more, but she thankfully gives up halfway through their meal when Finn starts humming loudly after Rachel starts detailing what she constitutes as 'bases'.)

  
-

  
Later, on the car ride home, Kurt nudges Finn's upper arm with his knuckles. "Do you want me to drive?" he asks, because, well, Finn looks weird, his face sort of scrunched up, staring at the road like he isn't really taking it in. 

Finn shakes his head, but doesn't speak for a moment. "Are you -- when you stay overnight, do you stay with him?"

Kurt takes his arm away and turns to look out at the road. This is not the direction he wants any conversation involving Finn to go in. "Where else would I stay?" he asks. 

"Do you -- do stuff?" Finn asks, after another moment. 

"We're not talking about this," Kurt says, suddenly panicked. "We're not, ever."

"I just --" Finn starts, and when Kurt dares a look at him he's pretty sure Finn feels even more awkward about this than he does. "I guess, if I got to spend the night with a -- a girl I really liked, without anyone else, I figure we'd --"

"Stop," Kurt says, "please."

Finn shakes his head towards the road. "But are you -- is he treating you okay? Should I, like, talk to him?"

Kurt lets out a little, high-pitched laugh. He's pretty sure he's hallucinated the entire night so far. "No, please don't," he says, but when Finn turns for a second to look over at him, Kurt can see he looks a little -- different than usual, something lurking under his usually easy to read expressions. "Thanks, though," Kurt adds, a little softer. He knows Finn is really trying to care and be his brother and whatever, and months ago Kurt would have been thrilled at Finn's concern, but right now it's just sort of awkward, though Kurt feels considerably less like sticking his head out of the window and pretending Finn doesn't exist. 

"Alright," Finn says, suddenly looking much less tense. (Kurt takes his hands away from where he'd been gripping tight at his seatbelt, just in case.) "Just let me know if I should do anything. I'm kind of new at this."

"New at what?" Kurt asks, though he's trying to think of a new topic to steer them into as quickly as possible.

Finn's hands start to tap at the steering wheel as the low radio music switches into something more up-beat, and he shrugs. "Being your brother, you know?"

Kurt feels a sudden, small rush of fondness that he can't quite translate into words, so he just aims a small smile in Finn's direction, nodding along to the beat of Finn's hands and reaching forward to turn the music up.

They end up singing along loudly the rest of the way home, once Finn realizes no one will be able to hear him duet Gaga with Kurt if they're driving through Lima with the windows firmly closed. When they walk in the house, Carole gives them both a tight hug without explanation, smushing them all together at once though her arms don't quite fit around, and it's not until Kurt gets back up to his room that he realizes it's probably because he and Finn we're both grinning and laughing and acting like -- well, brothers -- when they walked in the door. 

The easy warmth of spending a few hours with his friends and Finn (however disastrous) stays with him all the way until bed, and he doesn't even have much time to think about seeing Blaine at Dalton the next morning, wondering whether or not Blaine will have finally noticed his additions to the list.

 

-

  
Kurt almost doesn't expect Blaine to show up and meet him at the top of the parking lot on Monday morning, so he's more pleased than he should be when he sees Blaine waiting there with coffee as soon as he slides out of his car. 

"Hi," Kurt says when he reaches the sidewalk, sounding more breathless than he means to while reaching his hand out to gratefully accept his container of coffee. "How was your weekend?"

"Hey," Blaine says back, shrugging as he turns to start walking, bumping their shoulders together briefly. "Not bad," he says. 

Kurt doesn't let himself be disappointed -- that there wasn't more to their conversation or that Blaine didn't take the chance to mention the list. He has a paper he has to turn in before lunch and a test in French later he doesn't feel entirely prepared for. He pushes away thoughts of the list as they finish their walk up to the school, listening to Blaine talk about trying to cook his own breakfast and miserably failing, and Kurt only belatedly realizes on his walk towards first period that he should've offered to give Blaine cooking lessons. It could've been a date, maybe, if they'd talked about it. 

He doesn't see Blaine until lunch like usual, and Kurt actually finds himself so preoccupied in going over his notecards that he barely notices Blaine slip into his customary seat next to him, only vaguely registering the comfortable and familiar warmth that spreads up his arm when Blaine's elbow knocks against it. 

He looks up from his notecards when he hears Blaine talking, though. 

"Has he been like this the whole time?" Blaine asks, leaning across the table towards David and pointing at Kurt, but not bothering to keep his voice down.

"Hey," Kurt says, shuffling his notecards together and then swatting at Blaine's side with them. 

Blaine settles back down next to Kurt and grins at him, wide and bright and a little -- mischievous, almost, like he's trying to tell Kurt something without actually saying it while David watches them with an amused look. "You ignored me when I sat down," he says, sticking out his bottom lip. Kurt raises an eyebrow at him.

"Get a room," Wes says, joining their table with a tray of double food that Kurt realizes means Wes bought David's lunch, too. That tends to be his customary greeting when he sees Kurt and Blaine at the same time.

"Us?" Blaine asks, "are you sure? Because I'm pretty sure you're planning on finger-feeding those fries to David, which is way more gayer than Kurt hitting me."

"More gayer?" Kurt asks, amused, just as Wes says, "I totally saw Kurt slapping you with those cards, that was just plain kinky, dude."

"Whatever," Blaine says, and Kurt finally sets his notecards all the way down and decidedly not thinking about the sort of things Wes could actually be referring to, if he knew, because Blaine seems to be in a good mood that's spreading itself down the entire table of Warblers, even interrupting Nick's daily monologue about his girlfriend.

"You're in a good mood suddenly," Kurt points out, watching as Wes really does start to feed David his fries, and even though Kurt knows he's (probably) doing it deliberately just for Blaine, it still doesn't look very forced. Kurt and Blaine share a brief smirk. 

"How's studying for French going?" Blaine asks, deliberately ignoring Kurt's comment about his mood, though Kurt can't figure out why. 

Kurt shrugs at his notes. "Good," he says, slowly. "Why?"

Blaine leans closer to him on the bench, his face still bright and a little off from his usual enthusiastic sort of expression. "Do you ever make lists in French?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. 

"I --" Kurt starts, and his brain sort of catches up all at once. "Did you see --?"

He glances across the table at Wes and David and then around at everyone else, but no one seems to be paying too much attention to him. 

"Your little additions?" Blaine supplies, and now his expression is different, still bright and open but in a way that makes Kurt's throat dry. "I noticed when I ran back after first period to change my socks -- they didn't match --"

"You only have one color of socks," Kurt points out, mostly because he's not sure he'll be able to handle it if Blaine starts talking about the things he'd written down right in the middle of lunch, within earshot of the entire table.

"I have three different shades of white," Blaine says, easily, "for the different shoelaces -- but this is off-topic."

"I'm not sure this is really the place to be on topic," Kurt says, leaning his head in. 

The side of Blaine's mouth tilts up and he glances around at the table briefly before inclining his head further towards Kurt, reaching out under the table before Kurt can think to stop him, and pressing his fingers along the inside of Kurt's lower thigh. "Did I leave marks, before?" Blaine asks, voice suddenly low and dark, barely above a whisper in Kurt's ear. "Is that why you wrote that down?"

Kurt tenses his leg under Blaine's hand, but Blaine just digs his fingers in a little harder. "Blaine," Kurt hisses, his voice low too, trying to see if anyone is watching them without really moving his head, wondering if the angle of Blaine's arm looks as obvious as it feels. 

Blaine squeezes his fingers along the inside seam of Kurt's pants, dragging them up a little higher, and Kurt closes his eyes briefly, trying not to think about what made him write down 'marking' as one of the numbers he'd added: the way he'd been able to see the little finger-tip shaped bruises dotted along his inner thighs the first night after Blaine had fucked him had made heat flare up low in his stomach, and he'd fit his own hands to the marks while he showered. When they'd faded away, Kurt had found himself wishing they were still there, wishing they were darker or closer over a bone so he could really feel them, because it made the memories just that much more vivid and real. 

Blaine takes his hand away suddenly, and Kurt barely catches a low noise in his own throat at the loss of pressure in time. 

"Tomorrow night," Blaine says, this time less quiet and more conversational, like he's planning a study-session, "can you?"

"I --" Kurt says, genuinely having to search for words in his brain, wondering all at once what Blaine felt about the two other things he'd jotted down onto the end of the list. "Yeah, I'll just -- I'll stay here."

Blaine's voice goes low again when he says, "Good," and Kurt wants to lean back into the weight of his shoulder and have Blaine's hands on him again, or maybe have Blaine's hand to hold as a sort of anchor -- but he doesn't. It's easy to distract himself with Wes and David, who have challenged each other to a blindfolded fry eating contest -- using their uniform ties in a way that brings back vivid flashes of memories Kurt isn't likely to forget, that Blaine seems to notice, too, because they share a smile that's less intense than before, sort of quiet and something -- something else that Kurt can't figure out. 

  
-

  
Over dinner at home, Kurt has to let everyone know he has to stay over at Dalton for the next night -- while refraining from just asking to be able to board there for the rest of the year, because, seriously, everything would be so much easier if he could do that. He finally settles on a pretty valid excuse (considering the volume of Finn's music next door to his room lately and how it makes everything hard to concentrate on.)

"I really need to be able to study for my French quarter final uninterrupted," Kurt says after telling the dinner table at large about staying over, trying to sound nonchalant and even going as far as talking before he's finished chewing, hoping his father will take it as a sign of his earnestness to work on -- French. Or something.

Burt sort of frowns at him across the table, though. "I don't know if I'm comfortable with the workload you're being given, Kurt," Burt says, mostly around a mouthful of chicken. Carole pats his arm and nods. "You're having to stay over at the school a lot lately."

Finn has a mild coughing fit that involves spitting out half of his mouthful of milk in Kurt's direction, and Kurt shoots him a serious, please-don't-talk-right-now look. 

"I've been thinking of calling up your school and talking to them about your lightening your coursework, with the commuting time and everything. We pay good money for your education there, so I'm sure it wouldn't be a problem if I raised my voice a little," Burt says, nodding seriously and gesturing with his fork in a way that makes Kurt want to correct him -- they had a discussion about proper table manners way back when Kurt was twelve and just couldn’t take it anymore, but he never seems to remember the finer points.

"That's -- that's fine, Dad, thanks," Kurt says quickly. That's not something Kurt wants to happen at all.

"I think Kurt would let us know if he was too stressed out," Finn says, a little slowly, but he grins over at Kurt in a way Kurt thinks is supposed to be reassuring, but mostly comes off like a grimace. 

"Yeah?" Burt says, chewing around his fork and then catching Kurt's eye in an almost stern sort of way. "You may be right, but, Kurt, you let us know if it gets to be too much."

Kurt nods, trying to arrange his face in a way that doesn't look too pleased. "I will, don't worry," he says. 

-

All of the clocks in every class Kurt has seem to be deliberately working slower the next day. It's all worth suffering through, though, when Kurt is the first person out of his last class and he finds Blaine standing right outside the door, waiting for him.

"Let's go," Blaine says, grinning quickly and voicing Kurt's exact thoughts. 

It's not until he's standing in the center of Blaine's room that Kurt really, really realizes what he's been waiting for all day. He wrote down things he wanted from Blaine, specific things that Blaine is going to give him and is excited about -- judging by the way he strips all of his clothes off quickly and shamelessly while Kurt watches, standing still -- and all the thoughts Kurt has been having in the shower and in bed and during class for the past week sort of catch up to him all at once. 

“So,” Blaine says, walking towards Kurt in a way Kurt finds almost predatory. Blaine unbuttons the top button in Kurt’s jacket easily, reaching underneath to tug at his shirt. 

“So,” Kurt says back, when Blaine doesn’t elaborate. He lifts his arms easily so Blaine can tug his shirt up and over his head. When Kurt can see again, Blaine is grinning lazily at him. 

“Number one,” Blaine says, not taking his eyes off of Kurt’s face, even though his hands are tugging at Kurt’s belt, “marking.” 

When Kurt’s pants slip down his thighs, Blaine drags one hand over Kurt’s hip, pressing into the skin there. “Like this?” he asks, quietly, “is this what you meant?”

Kurt nods, because he’s waiting to see if Blaine will list the other two things he wrote down, and he doesn’t exactly trust his own voice when Blaine skirts his hands back down to pull his briefs off, too. 

Blaine makes a considering sort of noise, a low hum. “Two,” he says, pausing and bending down to the floor, lifting Kurt’s legs to pull his shoes and socks off so he can slide the rest of Kurt’s clothes the rest of the way off, something that feels more intimate than it should when Kurt looks down, lifting his legs obediently with Blaine’s hands guiding the movement on his calves. Blaine doesn’t seem to acknowledge the moment the same way Kurt does, though, because he stands back up just as easily and loops an arm around Kurt’s bare waist, tugging him towards the bed and rolling over top of him. 

“Two,” Blaine repeats, looking evenly down at Kurt, “rimming. Right?”

Kurt nods again, because -- yeah. When Blaine doesn’t say anything for a second, though, Kurt frowns up at him. “If you don’t want to --”

“What?” Blaine says, cutting him off and kneeling back into the space between Kurt’s thighs (he’d spared a thought to keeping them together when he landed on the mattress, but it was just so easy and automatic to spread his legs out and leave room for Blaine to slide right between.) “What, no, of course I do. I definitely do.” 

Kurt rolls his shoulders back into the mattress. “Oh,” he says, though he’s pretty sure he means to say something more. "That's -- good."

“I don’t -- I actually don’t know about the last thing you wrote, though,” Blaine says after a second. “Dirty talking. I don’t think I can --”

“Are you kidding me?” Kurt says, cutting Blaine off entirely. “If you try and tell me you aren’t any good at that, Blaine, I’ll --”

“I just think it would end up being ridiculous,” Blaine says, shrugging. “I mean, I’ll try though.”

Kurt isn’t even too hard, yet, and he’s about to reach out and tug Blaine up by his arms so they can make out or something to get everything going, but Blaine slips down on his own stomach and leans up, head level with where Kurt’s cock is resting on his stomach before Kurt really gets a chance to move his own arms. 

“I’m just going to --” Blaine says, but trails off. 

For a second, Kurt thinks Blaine is going to lean his head all the way down, but he doesn’t -- instead he wraps his hand loosely around Kurt’s dick until he can get his mouth around the head at the right angle. It feels different, new, like this, with Kurt growing hard inside Blaine’s mouth, nothing too rushed, Blaine’s tongue dragging with heavy pressure even though the slide of his mouth is slow and shallow. 

It’s almost more intense this way, and Kurt’s head isn’t in the right place for it, the warmth in his skin building up slowly. He doesn’t even notice the way he’s rolling his hips up into Blaine’s mouth in jerky little motions until Blaine uncurls his hand from Kurt’s dick and presses both of his hands down on Kurt’s hips. 

“Sorry,” Kurt says, low, just as Blaine lowers his mouth, all slick heat, and Kurt notices the small noises coming out of his throat at the same time. 

Blaine pulls his mouth off and looks up at Kurt, a little wide-eyed, his mouth slick and dark. "Don't be," he says. When he leans back down to take Kurt's cock between his lips again, he digs his hands into Kurt's hips with more pressure than Kurt is expecting, even though Kurt isn't tilting his hips up anymore. The movement of Blaine's mouth on his cock is less lazy, the slide more relentless, and with each pass of his tongue over the head Blaine's fingers press into Kurt's hips harder, until it's almost all Kurt can feel and focus on -- the low throb beneath the surface. 

He's going to feel it tomorrow, maybe even without even having to press his hands over the marks. Blaine's fingers are digging in right where Kurt's uniform pants rest, and Kurt thinks about how he'll feel this each time he moves, too, and it makes Kurt twist his hips up and groan.

“Harder,” Kurt says, without even really realizing it, the word barely coming out on a breath as his brain struggles to keep up with everything. Blaine groans deep and dark around his cock, fingers pressing with impossible, tight pressure on Kurt’s hips, digging into the skin there, more on the side of painful than just noticeable now. It feels -- amazing, and Kurt feels lightheaded with the way Blaine is keeping up an erratic rhythm, bobbing his head back and forth, controlled mostly by the small jerks of Kurt’s hips that he can’t help but start up again.

Blaine moves his hands away from Kurt's hips after another minute, and Kurt groans at the loss. "What --"

Blaine makes a low noise, looking up at Kurt. "So you want to be able to see these, after?" he asks, skirting his fingers lightly over the skin he'd just been pressing into. 

"Yeah -- yes," Kurt says, because Blaine seems to be waiting for him to answer, and he doesn't really want to say it out loud, but when he does Blaine ducks his head down and presses his lips, open and dry, against one of reddish fingertip shaped-marks and groans. 

"God that's -- thinking about you noticing back at home, knowing I did that to you. That's, wow," Blaine says. "I was trying to be careful, but did I leave marks the first time?"

Kurt nods, and Blaine sits back a little, moving his hands down along the inside of Kurt's thighs. "Here?" Blaine asks, and Kurt nods again, remembering the way Blaine had pressed his legs up and apart so he could press his cock deeper inside, that first night. (Remembering the way, after, Kurt had been surprised to see the little marks on his skin, and how that surprise had quickly faded into something darker, and he couldn't stop touching them, jerking off with one-hand and trying to drag up the memory of Blaine's touch.)

"Did you press into them?” Blaine asks, pressing into Kurt’s skin as he talks, dragging his hands up and fitting just his fingertips into the soft part of Kurt’s inner thighs. "Why didn't you show me?"

Kurt isn't sure how Blaine is constructing sentences, because he can't really manage anything at all. He nudges his hips up towards Blaine's face, because his cock is hard between his thighs, slick and cooling from Blaine's mouth.

"Am I talking dirty?" Blaine asks, suddenly, right before his mouth gets back up to Kurt’s cock. Kurt blinks down at him. 

If Kurt wasn’t certain an attempt at laughter would be nothing short of a strangled sort of moan, he’d probably be laughing. "You mean," he manages to get out, "that's unintentional? Jesus, Blaine -- how?"

"You're so -- it’s just you, I guess,” Blaine says, leaning back down to Kurt’s hip instead of finishing his thought (though Kurt kind of gets what he means, because he’d say the same thing in reverse and probably make less sense). "I keep thinking about you touching yourself, I can't stop."

“Here, though,” Blaine adds, dragging his lips down Kurt’s hip and along his thigh, ignoring Kurt’s cock completely, even though Kurt is so close. He presses his hands back against the inside of Kurt’s legs and pushes them apart, leaning down. “I didn’t forget,” he says, and Kurt can feel his breath almost like a touch, against his balls and lower.

Kurt doesn’t know what he means at first, isn’t thinking straight to begin with, and he gasps out softly when Blaine removes his hands from his hips, his pulse coming up to ache at the surface like a ghost of the pressure there before. 

“Sit back more,” Blaine says, “I want to --"

It only really clicks in Kurt's head when Blaine’s hands skirt down the inside of his thighs again, spreading them apart so he can get between, ducking his head down but not going back to Kurt’s dick, moving lower and spreading Kurt apart with his hands, pausing and breathing out, right over Kurt’s asshole.

Kurt's thought about Blaine between his legs like this, thought about his mouth, but he had already been so close just from Blaine’s mouth and hands, the combination of pain and pleasure that just worked, he'd lost focus -- he was ready to come without this part of his addition to Blaine's list.

Blaine’s tongue darts out without much warning, hot against Kurt’s skin, just skirting around where Kurt wants it the most, sure that his muscles are visibly clenching in anticipation. "Yeah?" Blaine asks, though he shouldn't need to ask at all, not with the way Kurt is trying to shift his hips down the mattress to get closer, wrinkling Blaine's sheets in-between clenched fingers.

It's better than Kurt imagined, when Blaine finally gets to it, spreading Kurt's cheeks apart with his fingers so he can press his tongue down with more pressure, sliding in long motions as his thumbs hold Kurt's asshole open just a little, pulling at the skin. 

"Kurt," Blaine groans, close and right up against his skin, and Kurt doesn't know why Blaine sounds as out of breath and overwhelmed as Kurt feels himself, but he likes it, and he reaches down with one hand to press at the back of Blaine's head, can't help it, wants to keep him there. Blaine keeps sliding his tongue over Kurt until Kurt feels his own thighs tense up, and Blaine moves his head up after a minute, wrapping his fingers around Kurt's cock before Kurt can process it, jerking him off with intent, fast and relentless. 

"Shit," Blaine says, "you have no idea how much I really want your mouth on me right now, the noises you're making -- Kurt, come. I want you to."

Kurt manages a low groan, because Blaine can't be talking like that with his voice a little wrecked -- not when his hand is moving perfectly around Kurt's cock, and not when Kurt can feel the slickness left from Blaine's mouth cooling over his ass, making him clench a little around nothing. He comes with his hips thrusting up off the mattress, Blaine's hand squeezing around the base of his dick and continuing to move, drawing out his orgasm even longer. He can barely focus when he feels Blaine shifting on the mattress, but he rolls over into the dip Blaine makes when he shifts up near Kurt's head. 

"You don't have to," Blaine says, when Kurt turns his face to the side, leaning right against one of Blaine's knees, "I just --"

Blaine is jerking off right over his face, his eyes a little glazed over as he looks down at Kurt, and Kurt almost manages to grin, feeling sated and warm with a little bit of wanting settling down his spine, in the back of his throat. He leans up on towards the headboard until he's half on his side, moving slow and languidly with the way he feels a little boneless, but still moving with intent.

"Okay," Kurt says, softly, leaning over so he can press his lips to the head of Blaine's cock, wet and a little bitter with precome, Blaine's knuckles grazing against his lips on an upward stroke. 

"Oh my god," Blaine says, gasping out around his words when Kurt slides his mouth down a little lower, just sucking around the head and using his tongue, "you -- I can't believe I let you do this while I was blindfolded before, Kurt."

It vaguely registers in Kurt's mind that Blaine hasn't actually seen him like this, with his mouth around Blaine's cock, looking up at him. Kurt didn't want him to see, the first time, but now he wants to -- because even though he feels a little dazed and strung out, he wants Blaine to see that he wants to be doing this, that he likes it, that last week all he could think about while jerking off sometimes was the thought of Blaine fucking his mouth, guiding his motions with his hands on the back of Kurt's head, and --

Kurt makes a pleased sort of noise around Blaine's cock in his mouth that he doesn't bother to hold back, because Blaine is staring down at him with his mouth parted, breathing out in little sporadic bursts.

"You should see yourself," Blaine says, mostly jumbled together as he groans, reaching out suddenly and wrapping his free hand over Kurt's shoulder with too much pressure, almost pushing him away. 

Kurt knows that Blaine is trying to get him to pull off, but he doesn't want to, the difference between how he feels nearly-relaxed and the way Blaine is sort of frantic above him too much all at once, and Kurt just tries to shake his head a little, lowering his mouth until it meets where Blaine's hand has mostly stilled around himself and swallowing. Blaine comes wordlessly, his head tipping back so Kurt can only see the line of his throat and how he's sort of desperately gasping around air as Kurt keeps his mouth tight around, letting Blaine come in his mouth, unsure why he's enjoying the feeling of Blaine struggling to keep his hips still and press Kurt away at the same time.

"Holy shit," Blaine says, seconds or a few minutes later, his hand sliding up off it's near-frozen place on Kurt's shoulder to rest low in his hair where Kurt is leaning his cheek against Blaine's thigh. 

Blaine slides out from under him and rolls over, tugging Kurt down with him until they are both laying sideways on the mattress. When Blaine looks over at Kurt once they're settled, his grin is wide and sloppy and his hair is falling over his forehead at odd angles. "I'm guessing someone would get suspicious if you just stayed here the rest of the week," he says. "Right?" 

"Most likely," Kurt says, and he almost mentions how Finn knows, kind of, but refrain. He's not sure how Blaine would take it. (Though, regardless of that, Kurt would gladly stay forever.)

"Maybe we could do something this weekend anyway," Blaine says, soft and low. "Like the movies out in Lima or out here or something, because that way you wouldn't have to stay over but we could still --"

Kurt is distracted by the thought of going to the movies with Blaine, so he doesn't really hear whatever Blaine says before he trails off. They've gone to the movies before, and it doesn't mean Blaine is insinuating it's any different now, though of course it's different this time, just because they're different. 

"That would be -- nice," Kurt says, because it's all he trusts himself to say, especially with the way Blaine is sort of absently nuzzling his nose against Kurt's shoulder. 

"Nice," Blaine agrees, in a voice Kurt can't read. "Yeah. We should."

  


 **six.**

  
It's weird to drive out to Dalton on a Saturday night. Kurt takes too much time trying to figure out what to wear while also trying not to leave too early, so he actually ends up being a little late. It's not a date; Kurt knows that because they never said it was, never acknowledged much about this night at all, but it doesn't stop Kurt from hoping, just a little. Hoping for what entirely, he isn't sure, but when he sees Blaine leaning against the tree in front of his customary parking spot, squinting for a moment until Kurt's car blocks the bright-golden light of a late spring sunset, Kurt can't find it in himself to worry about it.

"Hi," Blaine says, sounding breathless when he slides into the passenger side. "I know I said I'd meet you at my room. Wes and David were hanging around on campus today, pretending to be using the library, and they kept suggesting movies for us to see and then making references to a truly ominous sounding bet. I decided it was better to just wait here."

Kurt laughs as he reverses, Blaine continuing to talk faster than Kurt can keep up with, talking about a bet last year within the Warblers that ended in an awful incident involving missing underwear, vodka, and the flag pole outside the principal's office. Kurt can’t quite figure out Blaine’s mood, though it’s been a while since he’s done anything with Blaine outside of school, beyond occasionally stopping for coffee at the end of the day. Things had sort of shifted over the last few weeks, since free time after school was usually delegated now to Blaine’s room, to his hands and mouth and Kurt and --

Kurt is distracted enough that he nearly misses the exit to the movie theater.

“What did you want to see?” Kurt asks as they pull into the parking lot, looking over at Blaine for the first time in a while (he’d been trying to focus on the road, not the way Blaine kept licking his lips as he spoke, making them dark and slick) and watching him shrug.

“David said something about a movie with puppies? Or talking dogs. Or something with lots of boobs, but --” Blaine pauses, doing something with his eyebrows that Kurt doesn’t think should be possible, which makes Kurt grin, “you know.”

Kurt peers up at the marquee, watching a few people file in through the doors, some holding hands or wrapped around each other, and he looks away. “So,” he says, “I guess that leaves us with the movie about zombies or the one about -- actually, I think both the remaining options are about zombies.” He frowns. They should’ve watched something with Judy Garland while sitting shoulder-to-shoulder in Blaine’s bed. Or better yet, in Kurt’s full size with the TV where they wouldn’t have the excuse to be sitting so close but maybe they would’ve anyway.

“I think one is a comedy and one is a horror movie,” Blaine says, shrugging again. “You pick.”

“They both sound horrible,” Kurt says, but they end up walking away from the concession a few minutes later to head towards the comedic zombie option, and Kurt figures the movie probably doesn’t matter more than the fact that he’s seeing it with Blaine.

The movie, though, is really awful. Exceedingly awful.

“This  _is_  horrible,” Blaine whispers, leaning his face close to Kurt’s ear, his breath a little ticklish.

“I told you,” Kurt says, quietly back, staying still so that their shoulders stay pressed together from the closeness.

He almost, almost jumps out of his seat in the next minute but not because of one of the zombies getting its head chopped off (and turning into some sort of marshmallow fluff that is apparently irresistible to humans -- Kurt doesn’t understand this movie at  _all_ ). He doesn’t jump because of that. He almost jumps because Blaine’s fingers are wrapping around his own, tugging his hand over and onto Blaine’s lap, and resting there for a second while he rubs his thumb over Kurt’s knuckles.

Kurt stiffens a little in his seat, can’t help it, and tries to figure out how to swallow his mouthful of Blaine’s popcorn -- a mouthful that seems even more ill-advised than it had to begin with. (Popcorn butter was awful for his complexion.)

Blaine’s hand on top of his own starts to pull after a moment, though, his fingers curling further around Kurt’s knuckles and directing his hand further up the seam of Blaine’s jeans.

“Blaine,” Kurt warns after a moment when he realizes where Blaine is dragging his hand, because the movie is moderately crowded and Kurt feels like it must be the brightest theater he’s ever been in, like everyone can see them. (Not because he's a little disappointed, not really, not because he thought maybe Blaine was  _just_  going to hold his hand, like that was something they could start doing. This is just a little too public for whatever Blaine has in mind, and Kurt thinks pretending to be almost into the horrific excuse for plot unfolding on the screen in front of them is probably a better idea.) “Blaine,” he repeats, low as he pulls his hand away.

He digs in the cup next to him for an ice cube, intending to throw it down Blaine’s shirt in retaliation, but Blaine just laughs quietly and reaches out to try and grab his hand again. Instead of throwing the ice he fishes out, Kurt takes it between his forefinger and thumb and presses it into Blaine’s neck, expecting Blaine to jump and knock it off. Instead, though, Blaine stills, rolling his shoulders back and lowering his head, and Kurt catches the tiniest end of a moan, right under a suddenly loud chorus of zombie groaning from the screen.

Kurt raises an eyebrow at him in the dark, and doesn’t move his hand from Blaine’s neck, pressing the ice there and sliding it down along the neckline of his shirt, just to see if he imagined Blaine's reaction -- Blaine's eyes closed, his face full of changing shadows as people move on screen. “Right now?” Kurt asks, twisting a little to look at the other movie-goers around them then looking back to Blaine, the way his mouth is open a little in the flickering half-light of the theater, his legs spreading in his chair. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Blaine says, turning to him and grinning slow, his eyes open again but heavy. “It’s on the list.”

Kurt doesn’t remember anything about movie theaters on the list, and Blaine catches his expression and shrugs. “I can add things, too,” he whispers, reaching out and pulling up the arm rest between them, fitting his fingers against Kurt’s nearest hip and squeezing. “Plus, this movie sucks.”

“Blaine,” Kurt protests, rolling his hips up into the ache where Blaine’s fingers fit perfectly, every bit of the bruise spread out along his hip memorized behind closed eyelids.

Kurt isn’t -- he isn’t going to say no, despite the fact he was maybe looking forward to a real date night with Blaine, and Kurt can’t complain, not when watching Blaine try to stay composed as he comes undone is one of Kurt’s new favorite things. It just takes him a minute to adjust his priorities.

“I can’t resist you,” Kurt says, finally, shaking his head a little at the truth of it, and Blaine grins at him, leaning over and pressing his nose against Kurt’s cheek briefly.

“Lucky for me,” Blaine says back.

Kurt trails his hand back down to Blaine’s thigh, watching the too-white lines of his fingers drag up the inside of Blaine’s jeans, light from the movie throwing everything into sharp relief as fast as it becomes dark again.

“How?” Kurt asks, as quiet as he can manage, sliding his hand up over the crotch of Blaine’s jeans and pressing the heel of his palm down. Kurt feels a little detached from his own hand, but that feeling fades away with every time Blaine presses his hips up. 

“Here,” Blaine says, sliding down a little in his seat and reaching down to slowly undo the top button and fly on his jeans, shifting them down his hips enough to leave room for Kurt’s hand to press inside. 

Kurt looks around them, glad they settled on the very back corner in the last row and that no one seemed to want to sit by them. (This was probably because they were loudly talking about the Oscars and Julie Andrews before the previews, and most of the people walking inside the theater, preparing to watch a zombie-comedy and maybe enjoy it, were probably not really interested in the same things.)

It’s a weird angle when Kurt slides his hand in, too cramped for any real motion beyond a dragging, tight sort of slide that Blaine mostly has to tilt his hips up into to compensate for. Kurt gets to feel the way Blaine hardens under his hand, though, and the way the head of his cock becomes slick with precome, the slide of Kurt’s palm slipping down easier with every pass over the head he can make.

He also gets to watch Blaine’s face, lit up and then sometimes thrown into shadow by whatever is happening on the screen. Blaine tries to keep his face relaxed, and it makes Kurt want to speed up his hand, want to see the way Blaine’s mouth parts and how he bites his bottom lip with every deliberately sharp upwards roll of his hips. It’s kind of… It’s definitely something that turns Kurt on more than he thought it would, each shift or cough of someone in the theater reminding him that someone could see -- that someone could look over, see Blaine and know that it was Kurt who was making him shift sort of desperately in his seat, making him breathe out erratically around the silent noises that he wanted to be making.

Kurt still takes his time, though, stilling the movement of his hand when Blaine reaches out to curl one hand around the armrest of his chair and the other against Kurt’s thigh, pressing his fingers in while his chest moves.

“You’re so into this,” Kurt points out, pleased when his own voice is low and level and mostly unaffected, despite how he’s hardening in his own jeans. 

Blaine looks over at him, a little wide-eyed, and when he finally comes Kurt feels it over his hand, keeps his fingers wrapped around to work Blaine through it. Blaine stays slumped down in his seat with his hand loosely covering Kurt’s thigh long after Kurt pulls his own hand away. 

“I could return the favor,” Blaine says, almost just as the movie ends -- Kurt managed to stare sort of blankly at the screen for the last few minutes, uncomfortably aware of how tight his jeans were, and he figures the movie actually ends on a romantic note, which is probably weird -- but Kurt shakes his head.

Blaine sort of smirks at him when the house lights come up, noisily finishing up the last of his drink while Kurt adjusts himself a little, trying to be discreet when people start standing up.

"Look, public restrooms," Blaine says when they walk out, looping an arm around Kurt's side and trying to pull him sideways, grinning over at him.

"No way," Kurt says, "not happening." Whatever Blaine wants to do to him or with him -- it's not happening in a public bathroom. Especially not right after he just got Blaine off in a public theater. He's not sure which is worse. (Probably the bathroom. Definitely that.) While they walk out of the theater and to the parking lot, though, Kurt wonders if he should’ve taken Blaine up on his offer, because he’s noticeably at least half-hard in his jeans, and he has to drive Blaine back to Dalton, but he won’t really have enough time to stay over for a while.

-

  
When they get to the car, Blaine goes around to the passenger side just as Kurt is sliding in behind the wheel, but he doesn't open the front seat door, turning instead to the backseat and sitting there, shutting the door as soon as he swings his legs inside.

Kurt turns to look back at him, met mostly with Blaine leaning up between the seats. "What are you doing?"

"I'm about to drag you back here with me," Blaine says, grinning. "This isn't a 1912 Renault, but I guess it will have to do."

"A -- what?" Kurt asks, unsure if he should lean into the way Blaine is trying to wrap his arms under his shoulders or lean away.

"That's the car in  _Titanic_ ," Blaine says, tugging Kurt forward and into the small gap between the two front seats. "I can't believe you didn't know that."

"I'm not much of a car model aficionado," Kurt says, "though I can do an oil change like nobody's business." Kurt has to twist to fit, and falls into the backseat all at once, right on top of Blaine, one of his legs kicking out and hitting his messenger back from school. Blaine winces when everything falls out, scattering on the floor and under the driver's seat, mumbling apologies into the place where Kurt's chest is pressed against his face.

Blaine laughs while Kurt tries to balance. "I pegged you for a Titanic aficionado, though," he says, shifting so Kurt can slide over. "Also, you can change oil? That's kind of hot."

Kurt raises an eyebrow at him. "Really? It's not."

Blaine shrugs against him. "This went better in my head," he says, "when we were walking to the car."

"You planned out having sex with me in the backseat of my car? How romantic," Kurt says. He almost feels his face heat immediately after, though, because -- romantic isn't really a word they apply to this, and Kurt feels it kind of stay in the air.

"Titanic-style," Blaine says, after a moment. Kurt doesn't look directly at his face. "You should take your pants off, though."

"We're in a parking lot," Kurt says, but he can't help but go for the fly on his jeans anyway because he's been half-hard since being in the theater and Blaine's voice dips low when he says it and Kurt can't find a reason to  _not_  be taking his pants off.

It's -- not exactly easy, in the cramped space, and Kurt can't help but glance through the tinted backseat windows, hoping no one can see them in the dark end of the parking lot. It's still good, though, because Kurt ends up on Blaine's lap, both of them naked from the waist down, with Blaine's fingers pressing up into his ass, slick from a packet of lube and curling just right. ("You brought that along?" Kurt says, when Blaine first pulls the packet and a condom from the pocket of his discarded pants, and Blaine just shrugs and grins, resting his forehead against Kurt's while they shift into place.)

"Jesus, Kurt," Blaine says, with just the perfect twist of a third finger that really makes Kurt  _feel_ , because he hadn't been anticipating this. Blaine hadn't had a chance to do this to him since the weekend he stayed over, and feeling Blaine's fingers inside is enough for Kurt to realize his own hand in the shower over the past week hadn't been cutting it at all.

"What," Kurt asks, breathless and mostly pressed into the top of Blaine's head, edging his hips down and spreading his legs out wider around Blaine's thighs, trying to get his fingers deeper.

"You're -- Kurt, you're fucking yourself onto my hand and it's making me so  _hard_ ," Blaine says, rolling his hips up against Kurt so he can feel just how hard Blaine is.

Blaine can't just say things like that, though, not when Kurt's thoughts are steadily slipping away from him as it is, the head of his cock brushing up against Blaine's stomach every time he twists his hips down. He's not doing it intentionally. He can't help but press back into the pressure, to try and feel as much as he can all at once, because it's so good. He manages a moan, rolling back a little harder, and Blaine leans forward, dragging his teeth just lightly over Kurt's collarbone through the thin cotton of his shirt.

Blaine shifts the hand he'd been using to spread Kurt's ass open a little, so the fingers of his other hand could press inside, and instead brings it up to wrap around Kurt's hip, pressing into the marks there again. Kurt groans, resting his head entirely against the side of Blaine's and shaking a little, because the little throb that rises hot under his skin just as Blaine's fingers curl inside him is so perfect.

After a moment, Blaine stills his fingers inside Kurt, instead focusing on the intent press of his thumb against the skin of Kurt's hip, dragging his hand with the same amount of pressure to press in not far from Kurt's cock. Kurt rocks back against his still hand, moving his hips in little circles, his knees burning a little with the way they're pressing and shifting against the material of the backseat, making Kurt wonder if he'll have marks there, too.

"Here," Blaine says, this time soft and low, "do you think you can?"

Kurt has to process what he means, but he gets it, reluctantly shifting backwards on Blaine's lap, leaving enough room for Blaine to reach between them and slide a condom on (his back arcing a little against the seat when his hands fit around his own cock, and Kurt watches the muscles in his body go taut for a moment, his own muscles tensing in anticipation).

Sinking down onto Blaine takes time -- Kurt still isn't used to this, the pressure and the drag and the way it all feels. This time he's sort of sharply focused on it, not as overwhelmed as before, just feeling the stretch and then the give as Blaine's cock presses inside of him. Being able to slide down himself, controlling the angle and the speed with little rolls of his hips is more intense, especially with Blaine's hands on his hips (pressing just enough that Kurt knows he's aware of what he's doing, that he's still trying to fulfill what Kurt had added to the list) not trying to speed him up or pull him down, just there.

"Kurt," Blaine breathes out, shifting his hips but not pressing up, just moving in little circular motions, waiting. Kurt's cock is between them, not fully hard but almost there now, now that Kurt can focus on how good Blaine feels inside, how it feels like something Kurt was missing without even really realizing it.

"Just --" Kurt says, trying to vocalize that he wants Blaine to be able to thrust up into him instead of holding back, but not really able to find the words when he edges forward a little himself, moving so the angle changes and it's just -- " _Blaine_."

Blaine groans, ducking his head down to rest against Kurt's shoulder and then starting to move, using his hands to press Kurt down when he rolls his hips up. Kurt takes a moment to find the balance between them both but then matches him thrust for thrust, bouncing without much effort when they get a rhythm. He can't help but make noises, little and high in his throat, not sparing a thought to anyone walking through the parking lot who might hear or see or  _know_ , because Kurt doesn't really care, not with how good it feels to tense his muscles around Blaine's cock and hear the choked-off gasps Blaine makes in return.

Blaine slides one of his hands around Kurt's back and down, pressing his fingers where Kurt is stretched around Blaine's cock, tracing the space that he can, and Kurt's hips snap down as far as they can go and stay there for a second while he closes his eyes and focuses on breathing out.

"Wish I could see," Blaine says, muffled against Kurt's shoulder, and Kurt nods his agreement against the side of Blaine's face, pressing his lips there in an open-mouth exhale. Blaine moves his hand away instead of keeping it there, making Kurt all too-aware of exactly where he's stretched out around Blaine's cock, a pin-point focus even as Blaine's hand presses little hard circles into his hip and his other hand moves between them to curl around his dick.

"So close," Blaine says, "from before, it's just -- are you?"

Again, Kurt isn't really able to do much more than nod, wishing he could see Blaine's face but enjoying the almost intimate feeling of being pressed so close to Blaine like this, touching more of his body than he isn't touching as the thrust of Blaine's hips up into him changes to a faster, more urgent pace.

Kurt can't take the pressure building up everywhere for much longer; he feels it in his toes and his dick where Blaine's hand is moving in alternate motions against the rolls of his hips. He feels it in the base of his spine and in the material of his shirt over his nipples, suddenly sensitive to even the soft, barely-there touch that Kurt, sparing a brief thought, wishes belonged to Blaine's mouth.

Kurt is pretty sure Blaine comes first, because his whole body stiffens under Kurt and the curl of his fist around Kurt's dick tightens until it's almost too much. Kurt comes from the feeling of Blaine pressed deep inside without moving, from the way he bites down against the skin at the top of Kurt's shoulder through his shirt and it hurts in a hot, not unpleasant way.

It takes a while for Kurt to lift himself off, guided by Blaine's hands at his waist when his cock gets too sensitive inside with Kurt still clenching around in little rolls of heated aftershocks. Kurt slides to the side, sitting hip to hip with Blaine, trying to catch his breath and also lift his jeans up off the floor without actually moving his body. He manages to pull them up with one foot after a while and can't stop a little sort of triumphant noise. He looks down at Blaine on instinct, feeling a little too warm when he sees the way Blaine is half-grinning up at him, slumped all along Kurt's side, his expression completely unguarded for a moment until he meets Kurt's eyes entirely and it switches into a lazy, more normal looking grin.

"I've always wanted to do that in a car," Blaine says, still sitting with his legs spread open, shifting forward and away from Kurt's side.

"It was on the list, wasn't it?" Kurt asks, remembering seeing it somewhere in the middle but not really thinking it would be something that came up soon, not with how they had the easy access to Blaine's room and so many other things to do first.

Blaine nods, smiling in a self-satisfied looking way that momentarily brings something up in Kurt's chest that feels warm and fond, though he isn't sure why; if anything, Kurt can still feel the little bit of disappointment in the back of his throat that he felt walking out of the theater, wishing quietly and secretly that they could've just watched a movie and -- not done any of this.

"I should drive you back," Kurt says, pointing back over at the front seat once he's gotten dressed fully again, feeling light and slow from his orgasm when he climbs over, even though his thoughts are not reflecting how his body feels.

Blaine struggles with twisting himself through the gap once he's dressed, too, one leg thrown over the entire top of the passenger seat for a moment in a way that Kurt manages to genuinely laugh at before taking pity on him and pulling him the rest of the way over, his hand curled around Blaine's fingers, too-warm when he puts it back on the steering wheel when they start to pull out.

  
-

  
The post-orgasm lightness doesn’t follow Kurt through the whole car ride back. He feels more unsettled even as he’s making his way back to Dalton, though he can't figure how to bring it up to Blaine, who hasn't seemed to notice -- singing along loudly to the radio for the drive and only calling Kurt out for not singing along. Kurt doesn't really want to bring anything up. He and Blaine went -- well, they didn’t go on a date, but they had a good time and it was kind of exciting, anyway. 

When he slides out of his side of the car to walk with Blaine back to the edge of the school parking lot, they both end up standing sort of awkwardly in the dark, and Blaine's face is unreadable.

They've never really had to say goodbye at night, not since they started -- whatever. Kurt almost feels like this is the moment to acknowledge all of this, to talk about what it means, but he can't find a way to just say it, not with the way Blaine is looking at him, shifting a little back and forth in place.

"It's kind of chilly for late spring," Blaine says, after a few moments of silence between them, and he jerks his hand over his shoulder. "I should -- you could come up, for a little while."

"I can't," Kurt says, sort of automatic -- he does have to get back, and they just had (pretty amazing) sex in the car, and he's not sure what they'd even do or talk about right now, and --

"Right," Blaine says, "I know, you have to get back."

Kurt nods, presses his lips together and tries to figure out where to look, settling a little above Blaine's head.

"Tonight was --" Blaine starts.

"Yep," Kurt says, cutting him off and sounding too-loud in the open darkness around them. He's not sure what Blaine was about to say, and he suddenly really doesn't want to hear it, even when Blaine shoots him a briefly puzzled look.

"I'll see you on Monday," Blaine says, quieter, and he takes one step back and starts to turn to the side before he stops, turning back around and stepping closer to Kurt, instead.

Kurt looks at him, close enough that he can almost make out the different bands of color in Blaine's eyes that he likes so much under the parking lot lamps, and Blaine looks back at him for a second. "Kurt," Blaine says, softer even than before, and Kurt barely has time to react before Blaine is leaning in and kissing him, dry and closed-mouth with just the barest of pressure, but it feels like so much more all the same.

Blaine pulls back as quickly has he'd leaned in, and he grins wide in a way that doesn't reach his eyes all the way before turning back to the sidewalk and walking quickly up towards the school, leaving Kurt watching his back and standing still until Blaine is swallowed up by a patch of darkness between buildings which the parking lot lights don't quite reach.

It shouldn't -- Kurt shouldn't feel so ungrounded just from that, something so small in comparison with everything they've already done just tonight alone, but it takes him a few minutes to stop looking at the shadowed Dalton campus and walk back to his car, sparing a quick glance at the backseat, with the contents of his messenger bag still spilled all over the floor, unsure of what to think at all.

  


 **six and a half.**

  
Kurt rolls over into his stomach to grab for his phone, half-asleep and warm under the covers and definitely not expecting a phone call. Blaine’s name flashes up at him on his screen, and Kurt considers not answering, because he’s pretty sure everyone is asleep in the house, and it’s also late. (And partly because he’s not sure he’s ready to discuss whatever sort of late night topics may come up.)

“What?” he asks, whispered into the phone when he picks up the call. 

“Oh, that’s friendly,” Blaine says, sounding too cheerful and loud against Kurt’s ear for the darkness in Kurt’s room. “I wanted to call you,” he says. 

Kurt can’t help but press back into his pillow a little, grinning, thinking about Blaine in his room at Dalton (maybe thinking about Kurt, maybe laying in bed, boxers low on his hips, tossing his phone from hand to hand before calling. Maybe thinking about how they’d left it last night, how it was something a little new and unexplained but good.)

Blaine makes a soft noise on his end of the line, and Kurt’s entire focus changes. He knows that noise, so much like the tiny little whimpers that Blaine makes when he’s holding back, when he’s trying to be quiet, a sound that Kurt has definitely come to get used to and enjoy. 

“What are you doing?” Kurt asks, trying not to raise his voice above the barest of a whisper into the phone.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Blaine says, and Kurt can picture his face, tilted against his phone, one side of his mouth curled up. “Why are you whispering?”

“Finn’s asleep,” Kurt says, “next door.” The way his bed is situated, his head is right in front of where Finn’s is, with the wall in-between them. Kurt has definitely heard way more than he ever -- alright,  _currently_ , because there may have been a time in the past -- wanted to know.

“I forgot about that,” Blaine says, and Kurt almost half-expects him to follow it up with an apology and a goodnight, but he doesn’t. “I guess that means I can’t get you to talk at me while I jerk off, doesn’t it?” 

Kurt snorts a little into the phone. “You’re -- I don’t even have words for what you are, Blaine,” he says. Of course Blaine would call him at one in the morning for this. Not that Kurt -- he can't find it in himself to mind, entirely, because at least Blaine  _called_  and wanted to talk to him and wanted this. It's just that Kurt can think of a million other things he wants to talk about right now, with Blaine's voice soft in his ear in the middle of the night, when the distance between them might call for a little bit more honesty.

Blaine stays silent for a minute, save for small noises that Kurt tries desperately not to over-analyze, tries not to match to images in his mind, Blaine’s hand curled around his own cock or maybe just pressing over the front of his boxers, all soft friction. 

“How good are you at keeping quiet?” Blaine asks, humming a little around his words. 

Kurt is good at keeping quiet, knows from years of practice on his own. He's not as good at keeping his noises inside  _with_  Blaine, though, even when he tries, trying not to let out too much all at once when they're together.

“I want to hear you try,” Blaine says, “do you think you can?”

“We’re not doing this,” Kurt says, shifting against the mattress, not thinking about trying, not thinking about jerking off to Blaine’s voice over the phone, because phone sex is a fundamentally awkward idea beyond even considering the fact there are three other people in his house that could potentially overhear him, including one person who is only a few inches of space and drywall away.

"Will you stay on the phone while I do, then?" Blaine asks. Kurt tries not to focus on the small sounds he can hear on Blaine's end of the phone: a quiet rustle of sheets or maybe Blaine's head on his pillow, a slicker sounding noise with an almost constant pattern, the low breaths that Blaine keeps taking.

"I -- yeah," Kurt says. He can just listen and not have to do anything else. He jerked off in the shower, earlier, and he's tired and --

A few minutes later, it's pretty apparent Kurt can't  _just_  listen. Especially not with the way Blaine keeps rasping out,  _"Come on, Kurt, come on"_  in-between little noises that leave little to Kurt's imagination. 

"I'm hanging up," Kurt whispers, his own hand sliding under his blanket already, moving slowly over his own stomach because he can't help it.

"You're not," Blaine says, low. Kurt can picture him grinning around his words. "Are you touching yourself?"

"No," Kurt says, but his voice probably gives him away, going a little high just as he curls his fingers around his cock, the elastic of his sleep pants pressing down on his wrist. 

"You  _are_ ," Blaine says, and he sounds so delighted and removed from what he's doing for a second that Kurt can't help but lean his head down into his pillow and shake it, a little. 

Kurt can't really stop the motion of his own hand once he's started, egged on by Blaine's breathing in his ear. When Kurt closes his eyes he can almost imagine Blaine is next to him, can almost picture them lying knee-to-knee on Kurt's bed, jerking off and trying to be quiet about it. (He can definitely picture the way Blaine would be looking at him, a few inches of space between them, his expression intent and focused in a way that would make Kurt come that much faster, make it that much harder to stay quiet at all.)

"What are you thinking about?" Blaine asks, his voice going a little rougher -- if Kurt focuses he almost thinks he can hear the sound of Blaine's hand moving over his cock, the little slick rhythm of it. "Are you thinking about me?"

Kurt tilts his tips up towards his fist a little more, spreading out his legs just to make it easier. "Who else would I be thinking of?" he asks, and he doesn't feel bad about saying it at all. 

"I --" Blaine starts, but he moans out and doesn't finish his thought, staying silent for a minute while Kurt squeezes his eyes shut and tries to picture exactly what Blaine looks like on his bed, fisting himself one-handed and gripping his phone with his other.

“I want to hear you, god,” Blaine says, “I wish I was there, wish I could see you. I’ve never watched you alone before, not really. I want to, though. Are your toes curling into the sheets? You always do that, when you’re holding back.” 

Kurt doesn’t whimper into the phone, but it's a close thing. Instead, he bites into his lip, wondering if he’ll break the skin, thrusting a little up into his own hand and trying to finish fast. 

“I’m so hard,” Blaine says, “I was hard before I called you because I was lying in bed thinking about you, Kurt. Isn’t this kind of crazy? Us? All of this?”

"Us," Kurt repeats, quietly and sort of dragged out of his throat on a little gasp he can't hold back, and he stills automatically, because he didn't mean to --

“Kurt,” Blaine says, a little urgent, “are you close? Tell me, come on, say something.” 

Kurt bites into his lip again, realizing Blaine didn't hear him at all, and he's not sure how he feels about that, if he wanted Blaine to hear him or not. He lets out a shaky breath into the phone, the best he can trust himself to manage like this, pressing his thumb under the head of his cock, where Blaine tends to focus, always a little bit too much. He wishes he could free his other hand without the phone sliding down the pillow so he could press his fingers into the fading marks on his hips, pretend that Blaine was above him, the twist of his hand perfect over Kurt's cock. (Kurt is sliding his first up and down at a faster pace than he usually uses on himself now, his fingers curled just a little bit tighter, and it's not  _Blaine_ , but when he closes his eyes and listens to Blaine on his end of the phone, he can almost pretend it is.)

" _Blaine,_ " Kurt breathes out, because he needs to do something, can't hold everything in any longer, not with the way he's already sensitive from coming only an hour or so before, and when Blaine groans his name back in response, Kurt's body snaps up off the mattress as he comes, a fast burn throughout his body that leaves him lying slack and boneless back against the mattress a few seconds later.

"I can't --" Blaine says, but his words end abruptly, and Kurt knows he's coming -- he can feel the little pleasant aftershocks of his own orgasm turn heated for a moment, just picturing what Blaine must look like.

It takes a while for Kurt's breath to even out in his chest. Blaine laughs low in his throat after he catches his own breath and that's all it takes for Kurt to relax fully back into his bed, tired all at once.

“Hey,” Blaine says, soft and sleepy on his end of the line, “are you free this Friday? Do you have plans?”

Kurt’s generally free all the time, especially for Blaine, but he doesn’t say that, feeling warm and sleepy himself. “I can be,” he says, “why?”

“No reason,” Blaine says, half around a yawn. “Just don’t make plans, okay?”

“Okay,” Kurt agrees. 

“Goodnight,” Blaine says, and it sounds so close to Kurt’s ear that he almost pulls the phone away, a little. Too close, too -- something.

“Night,” Kurt whispers back, and he keeps his phone pressed against his cheek long after Blaine hangs up.

  


 **seven.**

  
Kurt is immensely pleased when he finds himself early to lunch on Friday. Blaine isn’t anywhere in sight, which is what Kurt was hoping for, and Wes and David are sitting with their shoulders together, hunched over a notebook at their customary table -- which  _was_  what Kurt was hoping for. (That they’d be there and Blaine wouldn’t, not that they would be sitting so close, whispering in a secretive sort of way that Kurt feels momentarily bad about interrupting before he slides onto the bench across from them.)

“Hi,” he says, a little too loud and probably too enthusiastic, because the looks he gets in return are a combination of puzzled and amused. 

“Where’s your tag-a-long pup today?” Wes asks.

Kurt falters -- he’d prepared several ways for this dialogue to go but none of those ways had involved many inane, strange questions. Considering who he was planning on talking to, he probably should've factored that sort of thing in. “My -- what?”

“He means Blaine,” David supplies, knocking his shoulder against Wes. “You know, the way he sort of follows you around like a puppy sometimes, hoping you’ll notice him at practice?”

“No,” Kurt says, slowly, aware he’s lost footing in this conversation already. If anything, not that Kurt would admit it out loud, especially not to the pair of people in front of him, Kurt feels he’s probably the better fit for whatever -- metaphor? something -- Wes and David are getting at. “Anyway,” Kurt says, glancing up around the cafeteria, hoping Blaine won’t walk in. “I needed to ask you both something.”

“Ask away,” David says, though Wes looks like he’d rather say something more about puppies. (Kurt is pretty sure he’d have noticed whatever they’re referring to before, considering the amount of time he’d spent analysing Blaine’s behavior towards him before they started -- whatever.)

Kurt leans his chin on his hand in an effort to look a little more nonchalant. “Has Blaine mentioned anything about plans for tonight?” he asks, trying not to look too interested but mostly failing. It took Kurt a while to decide that it would be worth the risk to ask Wes and David if Blaine had mentioned anything about what he was planning for Friday. For all Kurt knew, it probably had something to do with the list, but Blaine hadn’t specifically asked him to make plans to stay over and he’d taken so much time to be secretive about it that Kurt had kind of let his hope grow that maybe it would be something more like the movies. 

Wes sort of smirks at him, which is unnerving. “As a matter of fact,” he says, “he hasn’t.” 

“Why?” David asks.

Kurt sits back against the bench, looking out at the growing food line and wishing he’d stopped their first. He can make out the back of Blaine’s head at the end of the line. “No reason,” Kurt says. 

Wes turns his smirk to David and then to their notebook. “I’m raising the bet to fifty dollars on my end,” he says, his voice low but loud enough for Kurt to clearly pick up. 

"Bet?" Kurt asks, in an effort to not have to keep obsessing over anything that may or may not be happening in a few hours. 

"Nothing you should worry your pretty little head about," Wes says, scribbling something that Kurt definitely makes an effort to read upsidedown. 

Kurt jumps slightly, too focused on Wes' notebook to notice a tray being slid in front of him. 

"Hey," Blaine says, settling down on the bench against Kurt's side. "I grabbed you lunch, since I saw you already over here."

"How adorable," David says, before Kurt can really process anything. David turns to Wes, grinning, "I see your $50 raise, and I'll match it."

"I don't want to know," Blaine says, his shoulder brushing Kurt's as he leans over to the tray. "Here, I got you the non-lowfat frozen yogurt, as a treat."

Kurt feels like beaming, irrationally so, considering he's still feeling pretty frustrated at Blaine in general. 

Kurt's frozen yogurt is exceptionally good. He usually goes for the lowfat, only because he'd never really thought about going for the other one, and he didn't even realize that Blaine had noticed.

"Alright," Kurt says, halfway through his yogurt, inclining his head towards Blaine and lowering his voice a little in case Blaine doesn't want him to -- whatever, announce anything -- "I can't take it, what did you plan for tonight?"

It takes a second for a grin to split across Blaine's face. Kurt watches him carefully as Blaine ducks down, mirroring the way Kurt is leaning in. "Tonight?" Blaine asks, "nothing much, whatever gave you that impression?" 

Kurt feels his mouth open around air for a second. Blaine bumps their shoulders together briefly. Somewhere in the background Kurt is pretty sure Wes is talking about or at them. He doesn't care.)

"If I had planned something, however, I would be telling you to meet me by your car after classes," Blaine says.

"You would -- oh. Alright," Kurt says, feeling warm with a little bit of anticipation. Maybe it's the yogurt or how Blaine is sitting so close to him, even though they're surrounded by the entire table, but he can't help but feel that the past week of waiting and over-analyzing everything is maybe leading up to something good. Better. (They're always good, though. Except when they -- aren't.)

"I have to go print something," Blaine says, still smiling a little. "But. I'll see you later." 

"Yeah," Kurt says, directed mostly at Blaine's retreating back, watching him toss an apple up in the air and catch it before he walks out of the cafeteria. "Later." 

"Is a hundred dollars too much?" Wes asks, looking around at the table in general as if he's asking about moving a practice time. 

"Probably," David says, "I'd feel bad if you owed me that much." 

"You just don't have the money to pay up," Wes says, and Kurt tunes out, thinking about too many possible scenarios at once.

  
-

  
Blaine is already at Kurt's car when Kurt shows up, (definitely not walking across campus at a pace that could probably be considered a jog or even a light sprint -- Kurt just doesn't walk like that), and his lips are a little twisted.

"It's not much," Blaine says, when Kurt looks at him expectantly. "I just thought we could do something different tonight."

"So why is it such a big secret?" Kurt asks, aware of the lack of enthusiasm in Blaine's voice and forcing some into his own. 

Blaine tilts his head, tugging open the passenger door when Kurt hits the locks. "Because it's a  _surprise_ ," he says, "and that's generally how surprises work. They're secret."

Kurt makes a face at him before walking around to his own side of the car, turning his head a little so he can let out a small grin before slipping behind the wheel.

"Where to?" he asks, waiting to reverse out of his parking spot and looking over at Blaine. 

"Again," Blaine says, "the concept of surprise is somehow eluding you. Just drive, and I'll tell you when to turn."

"Okay," Kurt says, holding out the vowels and pulling out into the parking lot. He can't help but feel a little warm, happy at the thought of Blaine planning something that might be -- a date. Or something close to it. 

He turns when Blaine tells him to, automatically making a list of places they could be going in his head and then crossing off ones that don't match Blaine's directions. When Blaine tells him to turn right up ahead, ten minutes or so into their drive, Kurt is left with only two possibilities on his list: a slightly seedy McDonalds or --

"This is where --" Kurt starts, speeding up along the little road.

"Lumiere is," Blaine says, and Kurt can see him nod out of the corner of his eyes. "Yeah."

"That's my favorite restaurant," Kurt says, sort of blurting it out before he can filter himself.

"I know," Blaine says, as Kurt turns off into the small French restaurant's parking lot. "You told me you went here last year for your birthday."

“I got a reservation," Blaine adds, when Kurt can't seem to find it in himself to say anything, peering out across the dashboard at the way the deck in front of the restaurant is lit up by soft yellow lights, "I thought it might be fun, and you know I don’t really understand French food, but I’m willing to try new things,” His explanation sounds a little rushed, and he's not looking at Kurt.

"It's great," Kurt says, probably with more enthusiasm than he can school out of his voice, but he doesn't care. 

"Good," Blaine says, finally looking back over at Kurt, smiling in a soft way that Kurt isn't really used to. "We're just in time, too."

  
-

  
"So," Kurt says, spreading out his napkin over his lap after they've been seated. The table they are sitting at is pretty small, and Kurt is pretty sure if he wanted to he could reach his foot out just a little and brush it against Blaine's ankle. (He wants to.)

"So," Blaine says back. "So, I can't actually read this menu. You should order for us."

Kurt spends way too much time trying to figure out what to order for Blaine. They don't talk in the time it takes for their waitress -- a younger girl who has a fake accent and blinks so much in Blaine's direction that Kurt is pretty sure her fake eyelashes are going to come loose -- but Kurt doesn't feel like the silence stretches too much, not when the light is warm around them and he's so focused on the menu.

The silence  _does_  sort of stretch between them both in the time it takes for the food to make it to the table, though. They talk about Wes and David for a few minutes, using a probably unnecessary amount of airquotes around words like  _heterosexual_  and  _drunk_. Kurt tries to get Blaine to say a few things in French, but as good as he is at other things, his accent is pretty awful. 

It's easier when the food comes, to ignore all the questions Kurt wants to ask and focus on eating, but it still feels off. (He wants to ask,  _Is this a -- does this mean something?_  and  _What are we doing, here?_  but he can't figure out how to just say it, can't get past the thought that a few simple words strung together could quite possibly ruin everything they've started, everything that he's fine with doing if it means getting Blaine  _somehow_.)

“You know what I need?” Blaine asks, setting his fork down midway to raising it to his mouth halfway through the meal. 

“What?” Kurt asks, happy to find a subject that doesn't involve what their respective dishes taste like. 

“A spring jacket,” Blaine says. “I’m pretty hopeless at jackets for the in-between time of year."

"Because they don't all come in navy and red?" Kurt smiles, a little, raising his water glass up to hide his grin. “We could go to the mall,” he says, since Blaine looks deep in thought, contemplating jackets or maybe something else. 

“We could,” Blaine says, with more enthusiasm than Kurt expects. “How about tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Kurt says, nodding. Dinner one night and the mall the next feels like -- something good. Definitely like something in the right direction. They fall back into eating and not talking, much, and Kurt thinks maybe he feels the barest brush of Blaine's foot over his knee, and he stills to try and make it out, but he doesn't feel it again.

Their waitress comes over just as the silence starts to feel awkward, smiling down at them both (especially at Blaine) and asking if they'd like dessert in her strange, false accent.

“Oh, I couldn’t,” Kurt says, managing to sound polite, shooting Blaine a raised eyebrow, pleased when Blaine makes a face back at him, something akin to  _I know, right?_. 

“We have plans for dessert,” Blaine says, smiling in a charming way towards the waitress until she nods pleasantly back and walks away. 

“We do?” Kurt asks, “Since when do we have plans for dessert?”

Blaine grins at him in a way that curls up around the corners of his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he tips his water glass up and finishes it, baring his throat and distracting Kurt with the movement when he swallows. 

When the waitress comes back with the bill, for a moment Blaine looks completely stricken, and Kurt feels a laugh wanting to come out despite the mess of feelings in his head. “Oh my god -- Kurt. I can’t believe I actually have to say this, but. I kind of left my wallet. Back at Dalton,” Blaine says. "I was rushing to get to your car, I didn't even think about it."

It takes Kurt a minute to realize what Blaine is saying, tracking the slight sheen on fingers from the condensation on his water glass as he gestures towards the bill. “Oh,” Kurt says, “I can -- I can get it.”

“I wanted to -- but we’ll dutch treat or something,” Blaine says, shaking his head. “I’ll pay you when we get back.”

Kurt looks down at his lap as he fishes for his wallet. Though at the beginning of the night he’d been certain that this was going to be the starting point of something more for both of them, he has to reevaluate, now. No one splits the bill on a first dinner date. They never even talked about it. He wonders if Blaine would have actually paid in full if he had his wallet, or if he thought it should be dutch treat from the start, seeing how this wasn’t a real date at all. If it was just a way for Blaine to -- to have the night lead into something else. To dessert, whatever that will be.

“I’ll just get it,” Kurt says. “It’s not a big deal.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Blaine says, “really, I just wasn’t paying attention before we left.”

Kurt wants to pay for them both and he wants Blaine to realize it means something. He wants Blaine to offer to pay him back for  _both_  of them and not just himself. 

“It’s okay,” Kurt says, again. He doesn’t notice Blaine get up around the table while he counts out the appropriate cash and tip, not until Blaine is right up against the back of his chair. 

“Thank you,” Blaine says, evenly but low and right against the back of Kurt’s neck. “We have to go soon, though, because we have to make a stop and then get back to my room.”

Kurt can’t help but shiver, a little, from the way Blaine’s breath feels along the side of his neck, even though he’d just been thinking about not really wanting to see what Blaine had in store for dessert at all. 

  
-

  
Blaine doesn't tell him where to drive to again when they get back in the car, instead listing off directions as Kurt drives.

When they get out to the main road, Blaine hums a little. "It's up ahead," he says, which could refer to any number of stores or strip malls. 

"Where should I pull in?" Kurt asks, glancing sidelong at Blaine in the passenger seat, trying to get more of a read on his expression.

"It's coming up," Blaine says. He's leaning forward, peering out at the buildings they drive by, and Kurt almost jumps when Blaine finally says, "Here!" too loudly for the space between them. 

' _Here'_  is a grocery store with a mostly empty parking lot and flickering lights. Kurt was picturing something more like a malt shop, though he's pretty sure they don't exist anymore, and if they did, they wouldn't be around anywhere near Nowhere, Ohio. The thought was nice, though.

Blaine takes a basket at the front door of the store after they walk in and hands it off to Kurt, walking past the registers with his hands in his pockets, looking entirely too pleased to have taken Kurt to a run of the mill grocery store. 

Kurt frowns briefly down at the basket, but follows. "Can I ask what we're doing?"

Blaine pauses but turns around, his face schooled into something more serious. "We're buying dessert," he says, evenly. "And then I'm going to eat it off you."

Kurt can feel his face trying to arrange itself into at least three expressions at once. He looks around at the mostly empty store and catches one of the cashiers looking rather affronted, but she looks away when Kurt catches her eye. 

"That's the plan, anyway," Blaine says, looking a little less serious when Kurt looks back at him. 

"That's --" Kurt starts, but Blaine is already walking away and turning down an aisle, so Kurt has to hurry forward in order to not lose him. Kurt doesn't really find the idea of Blaine eating dessert  _off_  him appealing, really. As he walks down the freezer aisle too meet up with Blaine, though, he thinks about what it would look like, and about how he really can't say no to Blaine's mouth on him regardless of the reason, and figures it maybe wouldn't be so bad to try. It was on the list, too, Kurt remembers something about food that he'd glanced over for the more interesting options. 

"I think you're trying to fatten me up," Kurt says, trying for light when Blaine reaches out and puts a pint of Ben and Jerry's in the basket Kurt is holding. Stepping down to the end of the aisle and coming back with a bottle of syrup. 

"Between this and the non-low fat yogurt and French food," Kurt says, waiting for Blaine to grin up at him and laugh.

Blaine looks at him with less of a grin, though. "You're prefect," he says, entirely serious, pressing a hand low on Kurt's back to direct him back out of the aisle. 

Kurt's still repeating that in his head when the make it to the cashier, the same lady who Kurt had caught looking at them only minutes before, and when Blaine gives her a cheerful greeting he looks back to normal, nothing serious in his voice at all. He apologizes again when Kurt pays for the food, but Kurt just shrugs. If he's going to pay for their not-date, he might as well pay for everything over the whole night. Just in case it hits Blaine later that maybe his willingness to do so means something more.

They make it back to the car faster than Kurt can process everything, and when Blaine gets to his door he ends up leaning against it and laughing. "Well," he says, sliding inside when Kurt does, "I think we gave her some nice thoughts to have tonight.

Kurt makes a face over at him, shaking his head. "You knew she heard you, before?" 

"That's why I got on that line," Blaine says, smiling and a little breathless from laughing. 

Kurt breathes out a little laugh through his nose, too, still stuck on the one serious moment Blaine had thrown at him in the middle of the store, wondering if it was a flyaway comment that Kurt had misinterpreted or if it had happened at all. 

The drive back to Dalton is shorter than Kurt realizes, because he's caught up in thinking about what Blaine has in mind involving ice cream and chocolate syrup while Blaine sings along quietly to the radio. 

When he shuts the engine off, Kurt stills for a minute, uncertain. Blaine finishes singing along to Britany without the radio and Kurt only moves when he's done, unbuckling just as Blaine does and moving in sync, figuring he should go for the grocery bag for something to do.

"I've got it," Blaine says, right as Kurt starts to lean over, one hand reaching out to grab the bag on the floor at Blaine's feet. Their shoulders brush and Kurt feels it down his entire arm.

After a moment, Kurt shoulders his school bag from the back seat for lack of something to do with his hands, taking his time with getting out of the car as Blaine starts across the parking lot. He doesn't look when he beeps the lock on his car, instead watching Blaine's retreating back skeptically in front of him as he walks up to the sidewalk. 

"Come on," Blaine calls, "it's all going to melt!" 

Kurt shakes his head at him before he follows.

  
-

"Ice cream first," Blaine says, waggling a spoon towards Kurt's face and then digging into the carton where it's balanced between his bare thighs. 

Kurt had almost been surprised at how easy it was to settle into Blaine's room, dropping his bag down and watching half the contents pop out from being stuffed in too much, but not caring as Blaine moved into help him slip off the layers of his uniform. Getting undressed together was rhythmic and simple, now, in a way that Kurt appreciated and also couldn't really grasp. Some things were so easy for them and others just weren't. 

Kurt watches with an eyebrow raised as Blaine hovers over him, instinctively sucking in his stomach when Blaine dips the spoon over it, tilting it in his hand until his scoop of ice cream falls right in the middle. 

Kurt breathes out through his nose. "Cold," he says. 

Blaine leans down, pausing and looking up at Kurt, grinning wide. "I know," he says, smiling before he leans all the way down, closing his mouth around Kurt's skin and the ice cream pooling there, his lips warm around the shock of cold. 

Kurt is torn between how he feels about it -- Blaine keeps eye contact, twisting his tongue around and dragging his lips until the tiny spot of ice cream is gone, and it feels ridiculous and good all at once, Blaine's expression going from amused to something darker. 

"More," Blaine says when he pulls away, not a question. Kurt's stomach is warmer again, but the spot where Blaine's mouth was is slick and a little sticky, dragging cool air back over his skin.

Blaine does the same thing, spooning out a little of the ice cream and dropping it slowly over Kurt's skin, whether intentionally dragging out the time Kurt has to wait before it hits his body or not, Kurt doesn't know, but it's a shock of too-cold and a little weird again until Blaine dips down to chase it with his tongue. 

He drips small spoonfuls of ice cream over Kurt's stomach and against his hip, chasing melting lines of it down Kurt's side, trying to catch them before they reach the sheets. He presses the back of the cold spoon once over Kurt's nipples, making him arch his back up into the feeling, and then drops some over one. He takes his time licking everything up, and Kurt can't disagree with how it feels or with how Blaine keeps looking at him as he does it, no matter how strange he finds the situation as a whole. 

"Here," Blaine says, leaning up Kurt's body after pulling away again, "taste." 

Kurt can feel some of the sticky spots of left-over ice cream running in cool rivulets down his ribs, but he doesn't pay much attention to it, because Blaine is leaning in and pulling Kurt's bottom lip between his own, coaxing Kurt's mouth open. Blaine's lips are sweet and cold, and he kisses Kurt deeply and fully until Kurt can barely taste the chocolate and the little hint of bitterness anymore, until Blaine's lips are warm and slick over his own. Kurt threads his fingers up and into the back of Blaine's head to hold him there, chasing sweetness inside Blaine's mouth until he can only taste  _Blaine_. 

"Kurt," Blaine mumbles, mostly lost between their mouths, and he drops his hips down to roll a little against Kurt's bare thigh, his cock hard when he presses up, sliding over Kurt's hip and making Kurt sigh just slightly. 

"It's going to melt," Blaine says, pulling back a little in the limited space he can, Kurt's hand still pressed against the back of Blaine's head. 

"I don't care," Kurt says, and Blaine looks at him for a moment, too close to focus in on entirely, and Kurt thinks about adding,  _that meant more than it should have_ , but doesn't. Instead, he slides his hand out from the back of Blaine's head, letting him have the room to move back down Kurt's body like he wants. Blaine pauses for a moment before he does, though, dragging his lips lightly over Kurt's again.

"Delicious," Blaine says, softly, in a way that Kurt doesn't think is referring to the barely lingering taste of the ice cream. 

"We should try the syrup, now," he says, leaning back and reaching towards his bedside table for the bottle of chocolate syrup. 

Kurt raises an eyebrow at him again. "The ice cream is sticky enough," he says, a little surprised to find his voice low and a little rough. Despite obviously being turned on, his cock heavy between his thighs, ignored entirely save for occasional absent brushes of Blaine's chest and arm as he leaned over Kurt's body, Kurt didn't think he was  _that_  far.

Blaine shrugs over him, though, the bottle already uncapped. "If I had a microwave in here, this would've been hot fudge," he says. Kurt briefly spares a thought to how that might have been better, the difference between the cold from the ice cream and the heat of the fudge, but Blaine tilts the bottle in his hand and starts dribbling syrup over Kurt's chest and stomach, and finally over the dip of Kurt's hipbones, right by his cock.

It's different when he bends down to start licking the darker trails up, though. Blaine has to use more pressure with his tongue, and it drags over Kurt's skin, leaving mostly smeared chocolate trails all over. 

"Maybe if I add more ice cream," Blaine says, leaning back on his knees to survey the sticky mess spread out all over Kurt's torso. He takes a few spoonfuls all at once and presses them cold against Kurt's skin, using the back of the spoon to drag the quickly melting ice cream over the chocolate and then dipping back down to suck it off.

“Okay, so this isn’t  _as_  great as I always pictured it,” Blaine says, leaning his head back up again a minute later, his voice full of laughter against Kurt’s stomach while he chases around a glob of ice cream covered in sticky syrup with just his tongue. His chin is full of chocolate, staining the corners of his mouth, and his lips are a deep red. Kurt wonders if they're numb. His own lips feel numb, just from the memory of the pressure of Blaine's mouth on his that he can't stop replaying in his mind. That he wants more of.

“It’s cold,” Kurt says, agreeing fully, “and sticky. And messy.  _Look_  at me.” He looks down at Blaine’s sheets, can see marks with chocolate and a little pool of dripping melted ice cream by his side where it had dripped down his side.

“All valid points,” Blaine agrees. “Except I  _am_  looking at you, and I can certain parts that seem to be enjoying the mess.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, leaning up so Blaine can see him do it. He’s hard, yes, but how couldn’t he not be? With Blaine taking his time to lick over his skin, to trace patterns with his tongue and melt ice cream in his mouth, changing the temperature over Kurt’s ribs drastically all at once. 

Blaine moves all at once, ignoring the melting ice cream on Kurt's skin and pulling his cock up without much warning, his hand wrapping around the base until he can lean down enough to take the head between his lips. His mouth  _is_  cold, and against the heat of Kurt's cock it feels strange and a little heady, the stickiness on Blaine's lips dragging as he pulls up with his mouth, not bothering to move slowly. It's a shock that makes Kurt pull his stomach up, just like with Blaine dropping cold scoops of ice cream down over his skin. 

"Blaine," Kurt says, mostly choked out, because he wasn't expecting Blaine to just go for it all at once, and he's not really going down on Kurt with much finesse, sort of grinning around Kurt's cock when Kurt looks down, letting his mouth leave Kurt slick and messy when he drags his mouth up, his hand coming up to pick up the slack. 

It's messy and hurried, but Kurt feels his orgasm building up quickly, his skin over-stimulated, cool in some places and warm in others. He reaches down to hold Blaine's head, unsure if he's trying to warn Blaine that he's close or if he's trying to keep him there, but Blaine raises his head and pulls off almost as soon as Kurt starts to curl his fingers through Blaine's hair. Kurt groans, scratching his fingers in lightly -- he'd been so  _close_.

"No," Blaine says, low and rough in a way that makes Kurt close his eyes briefly, knowing exactly why Blaine's voice sounds like it does. 

"No what?" Kurt says, his own voice barely there.

Blaine moves over him, leaning up and settling low over Kurt's hips. "Here," Blaine offers, and then his hand is wrapping around both of them, palming their dicks together as best as he can, thrusting in the space he can until all Kurt can feel is the warm skin of Blaine's palm and the even warmer skin of his cock against Kurt's own. 

Blaine presses his head down, neck bending at a nearly impossible angle to suck at a little sticky trail of chocolate high on Kurt's chest, groaning around the skin there, and Kurt comes at the combined feeling, raising his hips to meet Blaine's own. 

Kurt lets out little noises that he can't help as Blaine keeps stroking, pulling out heated little aftershocks that make Kurt squeeze his eyes shut, make him feel like he might come  _again_ , just by how Blaine stills over him when he comes, too, slick against Kurt's cock and over his stomach, adding to the mess.

Blaine slumps over against Kurt's side and Kurt rolls to give him space, an automatic motion he barely has time to analyze -- how he knows to move on instinct, now, because Blaine always ends up heavy and over-lapping him, trying to catch his breath. 

"Hey," Blaine says after a few minutes of comfortable silence. "Maybe we should --" He cuts himself off.

"What?" Kurt asks, nudging against Blaine's side, feeling warm but a little off. 

"Clean up," Blaine says, though he's silent for enough time before it to make Kurt think he wasn't going to say that at all.

"It's your mess," Kurt offers. Blaine elbows him, lightly, and twists to his side to lean over Kurt, his head coming up too close to Kurt's face.

"It's your fault," Blaine says back. 

Kurt rolls out from under him, trying to get away from his lazy grin. He  _does_  have to get home, and he's sticky and messy and Blaine is -- too many things for him to think about.

When Kurt starts getting dressed, Blaine tugs his sheets off, folding them up at the corner of his bed and then coming up behind Kurt as he buttons his blazer, pressing against his back. 

“We’re still on for the mall tomorrow, right?” Blaine asks, darting in when Kurt bends away to re-fit his American History textbook and a few notebooks in his bag where they had popped out earlier, even though every section is stuffed full of sheet music and weekend homework. 

“I think I can manage a few hours away from writing about civil rights,” Kurt says, reluctantly amused when Blaine lets out a noise of triumph as the textbook slips in-between two of Kurt’s notebooks. He almost wants to say no, but his head hurts at the thought, as well as part of the inside of his chest that Kurt is studiously ignoring. 

“No dessert, though,” Blaine says. He grins, but Kurt feels a little awkward and doesn’t return a smile, and he shoulders his too-full bag in one motion. He's torn with not wanting to leave and wanting to leave as quickly as possible, feeling things hanging between them. 

Blaine leans in, one hand coming out to rest against Kurt’s side, and he bends his neck down until his nose presses in against Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt is almost certain he feels the brush of Blaine’s lips through the layers of his clothing, but he’s not sure, the angle is too off to see and Kurt is pretty certain he’s searching for -- something. Something more. Blaine leans away after a minute, after the stretch of silence between them becomes noticeably awkward.

“So,” Blaine says, “the mall tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Kurt agrees, mustering up a grin. 

“Beyond finding out that dessert is actually entirely unsexy,” Blaine says, leaning in again and reaching a hand out to cup Kurt’s chin. “Tonight was -- really nice. Thank you. We should, I don't know, we should be doing more like this. Stuff.”

Kurt can’t really breathe with Blaine’s hand pressed so softly against his chin, though he doesn’t know quite why. It’s just a simple, easy gesture. "You planned it,” he says, shaking his head a little, and keeping his voice light, unsure of why he's not jumping for the opportunity to say more -- he's not sure what to say at  _all_. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Planning suprises isn’t my strong suit, based on previous experiences,” Blaine agrees, his eyebrows knitting together at the center, but his voice matching Kurt's light tone, “but I’m trying to work it out.”

“Good,” Kurt says, breathing out a little laugh through his nose. Blaine’s hand his still under his chin, his thumb moving in little, absent circles. “I have to --” he adds, trailing off, not wanting to break the little moment he feels building up but unable to take the way Blaine is looking at him so intently.

Kurt expects Blaine to lean in, to kiss him again like the other night, but instead Blaine squeezes his fingers together lightly against Kurt’s chin and then drops his hand, letting the tips of his fingers skim Kurt’s open collar before his whole arm stretches away. Blaine turns around, something off in the line of his shoulders, and Kurt watches him for a second before turning for the door. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Blaine says, when Kurt is halfway in the hall. Kurt doesn’t turn around to see if Blaine is watching him, doesn’t think he really wants to know, but he affords himself a small grin once he gets back to his car, his head full of possibilities and a closeness to _something_  that he can feel all over.

  
-

  
Finn is sitting in the kitchen when Kurt comes in the front door, hurrying inside and entirely too eager to strip out of his clothes and wash the residual stickiness off his skin in the shower. 

"Hey," Finn says, waving half of a sandwich, despite the fact it's a little past ten and Kurt knows they probably all ate a full Friday night dinner already. "What were you out doing?"

Kurt wants to walk past the kitchen and up to his room, but he pauses, nodding at Finn. "Blaine and I --" he starts, but pauses, unsure of what to actually say, what to call what they did -- "went out to dinner."

"Oh," Finn says, setting down his sandwich half like maybe he wants to  _talk_  about it. "Until ten? Dude, that's a really long -- oh, wait, was it one of those, take you on a dinner date before you both --"

"Stop talking," Kurt says, quickly. "Please. And it wasn't -- it wasn't a date."

Finn looks at him strangely after, and Kurt realizes what he said, and how it must sound strange, even though it's something he's gotten used to categorizing in his own head.

"You went out to dinner," Finn says, sort of slowly. "Where'd you go?"

"Lumiere," Kurt says, "but I should really --"

"That's your favorite French place, isn't it? Didn't we all go there for your birthday last year? I didn't know what to order and I ended up pointing at the es-carp-- the snail things," Finn says, still a little slowly, like he's trying to figure something out.

Kurt nods quickly. "Yeah, that one." 

Finn raises an eyebrow at him, picking up his sandwich. "I'm pretty sure that was a date, bro," he says, taking a wide bite of bread and shrugging. "I wouldn't even take a girl there," he adds, mostly around his mouthful, but Kurt manages to make out most of the words.

"That's because at the moment you have no girls to take," he says, and it comes out snappier than he means to, because Finn doesn't  _know_ , and he can't just tell Kurt that -- these things. "Sorry," he adds. 

"S'okay," Finn says, swallowing. "It's kind of true." 

They look at each other a little awkwardly for a moment until Kurt pulls his bag higher up on his shoulder and gestures vaguely out of the kitchen. "Enjoy your whatever that is," he says, and he almost misses a few steps going up the stairs because he can't seem to get his thoughts to slow down.

 

 

 **eight.**

Kurt is never, ever going shopping with Blaine again. 

"You're trying these on, oh my god," Blaine says, holding up a pair of beige leather pants with lace-up fronts that Kurt is pretty sure belong exclusively at a medieval fair or pirate convention. 

"I hope you're kidding," Kurt says, except Blaine is already crowding him forward toward the back of the store, all the way to the dressing rooms. 

"I am so not kidding," Blaine says, entirely enthusiastic. "Just think of them like leggings and try them on."

Kurt raises an eyebrow at him. "Was that supposed to make me feel better?"

"You could rock leggings," Blaine says, wrapping a hand around Kurt's elbow and steering him towards the dressing room, where Kurt shoots a half-apologetic, half-amused grin at a lady walking out of one of the dressing rooms next to them. Kurt can't find it in himself to object to being dragged into a dressing room with Blaine, horrific pants or not, just like he can't really find it in himself to object to most things Blaine suggests. 

Blaine presses the pants against Kurt's chest when they get inside, turning and locking the door behind him and setting down his own shopping bags in the corner. "Put them on," he says, stepping back and leaning against the mirror.

Kurt stares at the pants, and then at the way Blaine is leaning against the mirror, watching him. 

"You came in with me when I tried on those pants at H&M," Blaine says, "come on."

"That's because those pants were hot  _pink_ , Blaine, and I had to see," Kurt says.

Blaine grins, leaning up and away from the mirror. "Well, I have to see you in these," he says, "so I think you should humor me."

Kurt shakes his head but shimmies out of his jeans, taking a moment to consider self-conciousness. He can't bring himself to feel anything more than a little pleased, though, when he notices how wide and serious Blaine's eyes are, watching every movement Kurt makes as he slides up the (ridiculous) leather pants. 

"Here," Blaine says, his voice suddenly lower in the small space between them. "Let me."

Kurt isn't sure what he means, at first, but Blaine sinks down on his knees and raises his hands, pushing Kurt's sweater to the side and going for the laces at the front of the pants. The way Blaine carefully does up the laces, pulling them together and sliding his fingers underneath to make sure they rest just right, watching his own work with a steady gaze -- it makes Kurt forget to breathe for a moment, makes all the moments from earlier in the day where Kurt had felt light and happy and Blaine had bumped into him with every step they took because they were walking so close together through the mall dissapear. 

"I want you so much right now," Blaine says when he finishes, standing but keeping one hand cupped over Kurt through the laces at his crotch, pressing in with the heel of his palm lightly. "You have no idea what you look like."

"I feel like a pirate," Kurt says, though the glimpse he gets of his own ass in the mirror before Blaine presses him back against the wall is pretty nice. 

"You feel better than that," Blaine says, pressing in with his palm a little harder.

"I think you need to reevaluate your obsession with public sex," Kurt says, tipping his head back against the wall as Blaine runs his other hand up the inner part of his thigh, his palm hot even though the leather.

"Only with you," Blaine says, dragging his lips down Kurt's neck. 

"Blaine," Kurt warns, because he feels like giving in and he doesn't exactly want to get kicked out of the mall entirely. They have a Lord & Taylor here, and Kurt appreciates that amount of class. 

"Mmm," Blaine hums, hand slipping higher, "if you let me buy you these and blow you in them when we get back to my room, I will do anything you want."

"Anything?" Kurt asks, grinning. The pants don't look bad, really, and Kurt could definitely work with them, even if he feels like he's on his way to some sort of gay bar. He doesn't even have anything in mind, but looking down at the way Blaine is staring down at the lacing over Kurt's crotch, his mouth slightly parted, well -- it's a pretty hard picture to argue with. 

"Anything," Blaine agrees.

"Then I suppose I can take in this tawdry addition to my wardrobe," Kurt says, and Blaine leans up, pressing Kurt back further against the dressing room wall before Kurt knows what's happening, kissing him, all hard pressure coaxing his mouth open.

Blaine's hand drags down his side, up under Kurt's knit cardigan, stretching it out. Kurt laughs a little, low, and shakes his head against Blaine's mouth. "Not here," Kurt says.

When Blaine leans back, his bottom lip is stuck out in exaggeration, and Kurt just shakes his head again, feeling fond and warm. 

He feels a little less fond and warm and a little more awkward when they step back outside of the dressing room. Kurt keeps the pants on and when they get to the counter, the clerk behind the register is a muscular and vaguely intimidating man -- and considering the shop's strange collection of leather clothes and swords, Kurt hangs back a little, stepping forward only when Blaine has to tug the price tag off his hip to hand to the man.

He gives them both a wide grin that only makes him look a little more intimating, but Blaine smiles back with the same enthusiasm as he pays. Kurt shifts awkwardly next to Blaine, thinking about getting out of the mall and going back to Dalton and enjoying the rest of his Saturday with Blaine in as many ways as possible. 

"I hope you and your boyfriend enjoy the rest of your day," the clerk says to Blaine when he hands back Blaine's change, also handing over a bag for Kurt's jeans.

"Oh," Blaine says, while Kurt goes to slip his jeans inside, "oh, we're not --"

Kurt freezes, looking slowly up to the guy at the counter and then back at Blaine, who's face looks suddenly as surprised as Kurt feels. 

"My apologies," the guy says cheerfully, "but enjoy your day anyway."

"I --" Blaine starts, and Kurt doesn't know if he's about to address him or the clerk or no one in general, but he stuffs his jeans the rest of the way into the store bag and straightens up. 

Kurt hadn't gone as far as to just assume they were -- whatever. God, he'd  _wanted_ , and he'd thought about it and thought about Blaine thinking about it, but. To hear Blaine deny it without even pausing, like it couldn't be possible, like that word didn't exist between them, it's --

"We should get going," Kurt says, pleased when he manages to keep his voice level. He's not going to let Blaine know it's a big deal to him, not again, not after he'd already confessed once to reading into things too far, so long ago now. They don't have to be boyfriends. They can just keep being -- whatever this is. They don't have to talk about it. Kurt repeats this in his head, trying to rationalize everything in only a few seconds. 

"Kurt," Blaine says, something in his voice Kurt ignores and doesn't analyze. He doesn't need to have a discussion about this. He really, really doesn't. If this is all that Blaine wants, despite the restaurant and despite the way it feels when he just brushes his shoulder against Kurt's, or smiles in a private way that only Kurt gets to see, and despite everything that Kurt wants, then -- Kurt can do whatever it is Blaine wants this to be. He's used to wanting and waiting for a future that will make up everything he's been though, and if he has to reevaluate waiting and wanting and still get to keep whatever tenuous thread connecting him to Blaine, then Kurt can do that. 

"Let's just go back," Kurt says, turning to Blaine but finding himself staring at his jaw, where Blaine is looking at the guy behind the counter. "You had an agenda with these pants, I think."

"I did," Blaine says, "but --"

"No time to waste, then," Kurt says, cutting him off. He turns to walk out of the store before he checks to see if Blaine is going to follow, unsure of how to feel when Blaine catches up to him, silently matching his steps all the way back to the car.

  
-

  
“Look,” Blaine says, shutting the door to his room after a silent walk up from the parking lot, Kurt feeling sort of ridiculous in his leather pants every time another boarding student walked by. “We obviously need to --”

Kurt leans back against the door, dropping his bag beside him and stretching, tight with everything he wants to say but won’t. “I was promised a spectacular blow job,” he says, instead, angling his hips so his sweater rises, the lacing of his pants completely uncovered. He watches Blaine’s face, the drag of his eyes down, the little motion of his tongue, darting out to run over his bottom lip.

“Kurt,” Blaine says, sounding impatient and torn, and Kurt inhales, watching him, lifting his own hand and running it down his thigh and over, tucking a finger under one of the laces and pulling it loose, but feeling disconnected from the movement. Kurt doesn't  _want_  to hear what Blaine has to say. That he's changed his mind, that what they are doing is so much better than anything else, or -- god, that they should  _stop_. 

"This is what you want?" Blaine asks, rougher than Kurt expects, something in his expression searching. 

"Clearly," Kurt says, tilting his hips up. Clearly it's what Blaine must want, too, since he doesn't want the rest of whatever they could have. 

“Shit,” Blaine says, his shoulders falling forward as he moves, landing on his knees in front of Kurt and reaching up to steady himself with his hands on Kurt's hips. 

Blaine undoes the laces on Kurt's pants carefully, his fingers slipping out each knot, knuckles brushing against Kurt's dick through the material on each motion. Despite everything Kurt is thinking, is trying not to think about, his body seems to focus in on just Blaine and each touch that drags unintentionally, and Kurt is half-hard before Blaine even starts rolling the pants down Kurt's thighs. 

Kurt doesn't know if he wants to watch Blaine or not, so he looks around the room and then back down, feeling worse each time he looks at Blaine and Blaine isn't looking back. Blaine usually looks up at him, grins, does something more than take Kurt's cock in his hand and pull the head between his lips with his eyes closed. 

Blaine drags his mouth down low and deep, further than he has before, and Kurt feels himself growing harder inside, wanting to tilt his hips and get Blaine's mouth all the way around him, just to see if he can do it, just to see if it will make Blaine open his eyes. 

"Here," Kurt says after a few minutes, reaching down to Blaine's hand on his hip and dragging it down and back to his ass, pressing Blaine's hand there. Kurt wants to feel more, wants to feel  _everything_ , because right now he's not sure what to feel at all. 

Blaine doesn't say anything more, and Kurt directs his hand with his fingers wrapped around Blaine's wrist. The brief moment of no contact when Blaine steps away to his bedside table makes Kurt want to slide down the wall, but he doesn't.

Blaine's fingers feel wide inside of him, and Kurt presses at Blaine's wrist from behind to control the motion, rocking back against his fingers and widening his legs as Blaine mouths at his cock. Time moves slowly in Kurt's head but fast all around them. When Blaine pulls his hand away and wraps his arms low around Kurt's waist, trying to tug him forward towards the bed, Kurt resists, turning instead against the wall next to the door and leaning against it, his back to Blaine.

"Like this," Kurt says, proud to hear his voice sounds a lot steadier than he feels. 

"Kurt," Blaine says, softly, one hand reaching out to trail his fingers along Kurt's hip and down the low dip of his back, too tender and too careful. 

"Come on," Kurt says, because he wants to feel Blaine inside, wants to feel the way it makes him briefly feel like he'd been missing something in the moments spent without Blaine inside, wants to  _feel_. 

Blaine presses in slowly, and Kurt is more aware of the stretch and the drag than usual, aware of the fact he's not as stretched out and despite the amount of lube Blaine had slid onto his own dick while Kurt's back was turned -- Kurt can feel it sliding a little between his legs -- it's still so full and so much. 

"Harder," Kurt says. If Blaine doesn't move, if he doesn't pick up speed, if he doesn't grip at Kurt's hips and bite into the back of his neck, _something_ , Kurt is going to start shaking and this isn't going to work. He's trying not to care and caring too much.

Blaine groans out against the back of Kurt's neck, something different and grittier in his voice, and Kurt snaps his own hips back, using the wall in front of him as leverage until Blaine returns the motion fully. 

“ _I_  didn’t want to do it this way, Kurt,” Blaine says, rough against Kurt’s neck, biting there. “Not like this at all,” he continues, and Kurt gets the distinct impression that Blaine isn’t sure what he’s saying, words coming out fast and jumbled against Kurt’s skin as he slides in and out, moving without reservation and giving Kurt back as good as Kurt presses back towards him. “You were the one who wanted to do everything all at once."

“I wanted to? Just me?” Kurt grits out, “I don’t particularly remember having to try to hard to convince you.”

“No,” Kurt says, and this time he can’t help but gasp, because Blaine is pressing in  _just right_ , and it’s rough and he’s sore and it’s just on the side of painful, but for all he’s trying to not feel anything at all he’s feeling every motion and touch tenfold. “No, you don’t get to say that. You can’t tell me that it didn’t mean anything, or that every time --”

“I'm not going to say that. How was I supposed to know?” Blaine asks, his breath catching between every word, and his mouth presses into the top of Kurt's spine, the words spilling out there against his skin. “God, Kurt, of course it meant something. It meant too  _much_ , and you weren’t --”

“You should’ve known,” Kurt says, “how could you not --” He means to say more, but Blaine presses forward, stilling inside of him and reaching his arm up from Kurt’s thigh, curling his palm around the back of Kurt’s head and leaning over Kurt's shoulder until he can get to Kurt's mouth, kissing him open-mouthed and hard and inelegant with the angle, but groaning around it.

“Fuck,” Blaine says, gritty into Kurt’s mouth, and Kurt stills, because of the pitch to Blaine’s voice and the fact he rarely says fuck, ever, groaning around it like that. Blaine reaches around them both to fist Kurt’s cock and Kurt stills, his hands going loose against the wall where he's holding himself up.

"Do you remember what I said, that first night in my room?" Blaine asks, low and a little bit angry into Kurt's ear in a way that makes Kurt want to press back against him harder. "I told you that I couldn't  _help_  myself, because you make me feel helpless. Helpless to do anything to make you happy or make things better for you. Anything you want."

"What I got," Blaine continues, snapping his hips forward but leaning his head down, forehead resting low against the back of Kurt's shoulder, "was you wanting to jump right into everything. I didn't -- I didn't want that for us, Kurt, and I tried, but  _you_  wanted it."

Kurt wants Blaine to stop talking because it's too much and it doesn't make enough sense. He leans his forehead against the wall, feeling shaky with the erratic rhythm of Blaine's thrusts, slowed down enough that he's mostly just nudging his hips forward, deep inside. Everything feels intense, but almost like Kurt isn't really feeling it himself, and it makes his toes curl down into the carpet.

"I went along with everything because it's what you wanted, Kurt. I'd do anything for you," Blaine says. "And yes, of course I enjoyed it and of course it meant something, how could it not? But every time I wanted to try something -- else -- you closed off." His hand stills over Kurt's cock, but the rock of Kurt's hips and the motion he can't seem to still keeps him thrusting into the tight circle of Blaine's fingers in a barely slick drag.

"You didn't try very hard," Kurt says, muffled by the wall and his voice cracking, just a little. 

Kurt turns his head away, mouth opening around a noise that barely makes it out, snapping his hips forward, Blaine pressing deeper inside of him, aching a little, and he comes over Blaine’s hand, his body aching with it a little, too fast and too much, and Kurt closes his eyes. 

“I shouldn’t have corrected that guy,” Blaine says, dragging his lips against Kurt’s shoulder as he speaks, still pressing into Kurt, his pace fast and erratic and dragging and too  _much_. “I shouldn’t -- I didn’t want to offend you. I didn’t know what you were  _thinking._  ”

Kurt feels himself shaking a little, from the movement of Blaine’s body and his words and everything he’s trying not to think about. “I want -- I wanted --” Kurt starts, but he can’t find it in himself to finish or even voice what he wants to say. 

Blaine gasps out against Kurt's skin, his teeth biting in and his hips stilling, pressed deep inside Kurt as he comes, panting hot and damp against Kurt’s skin every time he tries to breath. 

He pulls out of Kurt and backs up too quickly, the loss of heat and weight, touch and  _Blaine_  more palpable than Kurt ever remembers it being before. Kurt slumps down the wall, Blaine following and sitting up next to him, shoulder to shoulder. 

"If I had asked you to start over, to stop doing this and start at the beginning, what would you have said?" Blaine asks, staring across the room and not at Kurt, his voice a whisper. "I couldn't bring myself to ruin what we had because I was so afraid of losing you all together, Kurt."

Kurt watches the side of Blaine's face as he talks, can't look away. He wants to believe Blaine, except part of him can't. Something low in his chest that aches and won't go away. 

When Blaine turns his head to meet Kurt's gaze, Kurt looks away. 

"Did I, Kurt? Did I lose you anyway?" Blaine whispers, quieter even still. "I don't know what else I can say."

Kurt closes his eyes. His body feels heavy and loose all at once. "I think -- maybe," he says, open ended because he doesn't know what to say or think at all. Kurt doesn't look at Blaine as he leans away from the wall and stands, feeling unsteady on his feet but dressing blindly and quickly, pulling his jeans back out of the shopping bag. He grabs his sweater off the floor and tugs it on, belatedly realizing it's Blaine's hoodie, the front already halfway zipped up, but not caring. He just wants to leave. 

He doesn't check if Blaine follows. 

  
-

  
Kurt feels out of breath when he gets to his car, and he feels stupid and justified all at once. He pauses after unlocking the driver’s seat door and turns, walking up from the parking lot and into the grassy piece of landscaping it boarders, dotted with trees where Kurt has seen some of the students studying on particularly warm spring days. He stops at one of the center trees to lean against the trunk, staring sort of blankly around at the open space and at his car in the distance.

No one is around now, not on a Saturday in the late afternoon. The sun is warm and slanting across the lawn, though, stripes of light thrown across the grass through three branches and Kurt can almost appreciate. More people should be out on the lawn, should be enjoying it with their friends and each other. If things were different, Kurt might have driven Blaine home from the mall today and they could have had a picnic, maybe laid down on a blanket and held hands and pointed out shapes in the clouds, and Blaine could have kissed him goodbye against his car door without going back up to his room and --

“ _Kurt,_  thank god. You're still here.”

Kurt moves his head too fast and feels a little dizzy with it, but Blaine is walking towards him, Kurt's sweater buttoned up wrong over his chest, half the front longer on one side, wearing socks with flip flops. 

"Don't," Kurt calls as Blaine crosses the lawn, barely half a step away from where Kurt is leaning against the tree before Kurt can even blink.

"Yes," Blaine says, leaning in, "we have to talk about this. You have to let me say some things."

Kurt feels wound up too tight from his toes up, but his shoulders fall when Blaine reaches out and lays one hand down, his thumb pressing against the bare skin of Kurt's collar. 

"I messed up," Blaine says, low now, his eyes searching Kurt's face, "Obviously. What I said earlier was automatic and stupid and it was to save  _myself_. I'd spent so much time convincing myself over the last few weeks that all you wanted was what we were doing and that I'd missed my chance months ago."

"Why?" Kurt asks.

"Because I was trying to give you what you wanted," Blaine says, and he sounds tired and awful, looking away from Kurt and out across the lawn. 

"How could you think that's what I wanted?" Kurt asks, feeling a little breathless and a little bit like he might laugh. "And you never said any of that, and  _I_  thought you just wanted what we had, and that I could get by with that, because sometimes you have to take what you can get, right?" 

Blaine is watching him again, and his hands slide up around Kurt's jaw, his fingers resting behind Kurt's ears.

"I'd already told you how I felt, once," Kurt says, "I didn't want to have to do it again."

"That was so long ago," Blaine says, quietly, his thumbs rubbing in little circles, "everything changed."

"But it didn't," Kurt says, honestly. He'd wanted more of Blaine each day since the day they met. He couldn't not. 

Blaine leans his head in all the way, closing the space between them, and Kurt lets him. Kurt opens his mouth for Blaine's lips, all slick pressure but not demanding, and the way Blaine's mouth opens against his is a little overwhelming. 

"No," Kurt says, after a moment, because right now he can't, he can't figure out anything he's feeling and the pull of  _want_  in his bones and the hollow sort of ache in his chest that he can't name on top of everything else is too much. "I can't do this, not when you just --"

"Just what?" Blaine asks. "We never talked about this, how this would go, and I've  _told_  you. I don't know what I'm doing here. With any of this. I didn’t want to assume, before, but I ended up assuming too much. I'm in --  _Kurt_."

"You know better than I do," Kurt says. 

Blaine shakes his head, "I don't, though," he says. "I know you, you make plans, you think about the future. I know you do, and I wish you'd share that with me. I think about now, about what is happening and maybe what should be happening, but I don't think about relationships and life like you do. Does that make sense?"

Kurt leans his neck back into Blaine's hands, still moving softly against his jaw and beind his ears, can't help it. "That doesn't make any sense at all," he says, honestly. "That makes it seem like you don't -- I don't know. Care about what happens."

"Where do you see us?" Blaine asks, leaning closer again, "in a year from now?" 

Kurt closes his eyes. He does think about the future, can't help it, ingrained with years of only being able to look forward to years spent out of Ohio, to a time when he could fully be himself, be appreciated by the world around him. He doesn't know where he and Blaine will be in a year, not right now, not when they can't seem to figure out the simple things. "I don't know," Kurt says.

"We don't have to know," Blaine says, his thumb curling around under the back of Kurt's ear. "Right? Isn't that sort of the point, the not knowing?"

Kurt keeps his eyes closed, feeling ridiculous, leaning back against the tree bark and focusing only on the small circles Blaine is rubbing behind his ears. 

"Do you want to know what I think?" Blaine asks.

Kurt breathes out, just a little. He shouldn't have to answer that, not when that's what he's been asking for all this time. 

"I think," Blaine says, "that you should know that I don't particularly care about the future, most of the time. But that I do care enough to know when I think about not having you in my life? Those thoughts suck."

"So, what. What do we do?" Kurt asks, finally, feeling young and stupid when he does, blinking his eyes open to focus on the lines of Blaine's face.

"Start over," Blaine says, "do it right."

"We can't start over," Kurt says, "we just need to -- I don't know."

Blaine leans in and presses their foreheads together when Kurt trails off, and they stay like that. 

"You're the best person I've ever known," Blaine says quietly, and Kurt feels sad and fond and a little angry at everything all at once. "I don't want to lose you over something stupid like a list and like trying too hard."

Kurt leans away from the tree, pressing more against Blaine's forehead, shaking his head. "It's not about the list," he says softly, "Blaine, it's about how we never stopped to figure things out."

"Be my boyfriend, Kurt Hummel," Blaine says, his voice a little unsteady but full of things Kurt can't focus on. "Hold my hand at lunch and let me buy you dinner and and let me tell everyone that you're mine."

"We're doing this backwards," Kurt says, sort of desperately.

The corner of Blaine's mouth tilts up when Kurt looks at him, half a smile. "Is that a yes?"

Kurt straightens up against the tree, hesitating. God, yes, he wants that, he does. Just --

"You don't have to tell me right now," Blaine says, quickly, "figure it out." He darts forward and presses his lips against the corner of Kurt's mouth quickly. "Just know," he says, "that these past few weeks were were about you. You and me. They meant more than words on piece of folded up paper, and even if you don't want this, you should know that I'm going to think about all the times I got to see you smile, all the times I had to stop kissing you or couldn't kiss you at all because I felt like I wouldn't be able to breathe. Those were the best parts, Kurt."

"I have to get home for dinner," Kurt says, feeling a little like he can't breathe himself, staring out at the park over Blaine's shoulder, looking towards his car. He can't just -- not after today, not after everything. 

"I --" Blaine starts, and even though Kurt is determinedly not looking at his face, he can see the fall in his expression anyway. "Okay. Call me, if you want, later, or just don’t, or --"

Kurt leans his neck down in the small space between them and brushes their foreheads together again, once, stepping back from the tree and walking towards the parking lot, not letting himself look back at Blaine, not right now.

 

 **nine.**

Kurt honestly isn’t entirely sure how he gets to the Dalton campus after he leaves his house, though he knows Finn intercepted him on the way out, shadowed in the light of the kitchen, and he knows the highway was quiet and the radio was playing some therapy talk show. fac

(“Kurt, hey,” he’d said, sounding surprised to turn around from the refrigerator and find Kurt standing by the kitchen bar grabbing his keys. “Aren’t you, uh, completely disrupting your beauty sleep time?” 

Finn had grinned, slow and awkward, but his eyebrows came together when he took in how Kurt looked.

Kurt had tossed and turned all night, periodically turning on his phone to stare at the text Blaine had sent an hour after Kurt got home,  _i’m sorry_. He’d kept Blaine’s hoodie on, kept all his clothes on after he got home and hadn’t left his room.

“Are you going somewhere?” Finn asked. “Right now?”

Kurt had opened his mouth and then closed it. “I have to,” he said, “I -- I kind of messed something up.”

“With Blaine?” Finn asked, and Kurt had been momentarily surprised at Finn’s quick assumption. 

“Yeah,” Kurt said, “with Blaine.” 

Finn took a bite of his peanut butter sandwich, looking torn, though he clearly knew he couldn’t stop Kurt from going, and Kurt was itching to leave, to get to Dalton as fast as he could and -- do what, he didn’t know, not yet. 

“Are you gonna be okay?” Finn asked, stepping closer to the bar counter. “Should I come with you?”

Kurt relaxed enough to smile slightly at him, fond. “I don’t know,” he had said, honestly unsure of what would happen. “But, no, you don’t have to come.” 

“I’ll tell mom and Burt something for you in the morning,” Finn had said, eventually. 

“Thank you,” Kurt said, taking his keys from the counter, his whole body a little tense.

“Hey Kurt?” Finn had said, just as Kurt had reached the door, and his next words were the words Kurt replayed in his head the entire drive to Dalton, “he makes you happy, right?” 

“He does,” Kurt said, only hesitating for a second, hand on the front door. “He really does.”)

The Dalton campus is dark, Kurt’s car radio flashing 3:42am at him before he takes his keys out. He knows the way from the parking lot to Blaine’s room by heart, and he wraps his jacket closer around him as he walks along the lawns and pathways that lead to the housing section. 

Blaine’s section of housing appears too quickly, his door too easy to get to in the upstairs hall. Kurt doesn’t know what he wants to say. He understood where Blaine had been coming from, he did, and he knew Blaine was trying, was being honest. That Blaine wanted him fully. They’d both been sort of stupid, they hadn’t talked about anything, they’d just --

Kurt doesn’t know what to say. He stares at Blaine’s door for a moment and knocks, a few short raps that are barely audible and a few harder ones, Kurt’s heart suddenly located in his throat, thinking,  _what if_ , knowing better to assume anything.

Kurt holds his breath when he catches the movement of the doorknob, the twist and click, Blaine’s door opening, yellowish light spilling out into the hall when it finally opens. 

Blaine doesn’t look awake, but he doesn’t look like he’s been sleeping. His hair is sticking up, and he’s -- he’s in the sweater Kurt had been wearing earlier and left behind, buttoned up halfway up his chest, stretched out over his shoulders but falling too long over his thighs. He’s squinting out into the light of the hallway and Kurt holds his breath watching the changes in Blaine’s expression.

“Kurt,” Blaine breathes, and Kurt stays still, hesitating, watching Blaine’s face.

“ _Kurt_ ,” Blaine repeats, stepping forward but pausing. 

Kurt gives in, shoulders caving, taking one step and sort of falling the rest of the way into Blaine, throwing his hands around Blaine’s back and hauling him as close as he can. “I’m crazy,” he says, muffled into the side of Blaine’s hair, his entire body relaxing into Blaine’s when he feels Blaine’s arms come around him too, gripping tightly. “I’m crazy, Blaine, I --”

“I’m so stupid,” Blaine says, sort of ragged, “I shouldn’t have let you leave campus earlier.  _Kurt_. All I could think about was you not coming back, ever, because I messed everything up.”

“We both did,” Kurt says, letting Blaine stumble them backwards through the door, reaching around to shut it when they get inside. 

Blaine pulls back, and his face is shadowed in only the light from his desk lamp, but Kurt can see the way he looks, overwhelmed and pleased and Kurt feels _wanted_ , and not in the same way he'd felt wanted over the past few weeks -- but in a way that means so much more.

“I’m so--” Kurt starts, but Blaine raises a hand to his lips and stops him. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, so don’t even go there,” he says, dragging his fingers just lightly over the seam of Kurt’s bottom lip. “I’m yours, if you’ll really still have me.”

"Yes," Kurt says, the pressure of Blaine's fingers on his lip changing, dragging, "yes to everything."

"It's late," Blaine says, slipping his fingers down to Kurt's jaw, just studying his face. "Can you -- will you come to bed with me?"

Kurt nods, and when he feels Blaine start to drop his hand he reaches out and grabs his wrist, pulling his arm back. 

"What are you doing?" Kurt asks. He'd been sure Blaine was about to kiss him. A kiss that finally meant something, like the first time, before they'd pushed that meaning away.

Blaine looks puzzled for a moment, his fingers flexing over Kurt's grip on his wrist, but after a moment he inclines his head, looking up at Kurt. "I didn't know --"

Kurt shakes his head, feels a smile playing it's away across his face, feeling overwhelmingly light. "Kiss me," he says. 

"Yeah," Blaine agrees, his face bright and up close, and Kurt expects him to surge forward and just  _kiss_  him, but Blaine doesn't. Instead, he steps closer, twisting his wrist out of Kurt's grasp and stepping forward until he's pressed right against Kurt's chest. He wraps one arm around the small of Kurt's back, pulling him forward, his free hand running up to the back of Kurt's head and for a moment they just breathe. 

"You're wearing my hoodie, still," Blaine says, smiling, his lips just barely brushing up against Kurt's as he speaks. 

"You're still wearing my sweater," Kurt says, softly. 

Blaine's hand runs lightly through the back of Kurt's hair, the pads of his fingers pressing into Kurt's scalp, warm and comfortable. "I like the way it feels," he says. "I like the way  _you_  feel."

Kurt wants to tip his head down, match their lips together and just get to it, but he waits, focusing on the movement of Blaine's hands and tangling his own hands in the thick material of his sweater on Blaine's back. They feel -- good like this. They fit together in a way that Kurt hadn't noticed before, not in the way they felt tangled up in bed, not with Blaine plastered naked along his back. This is different, comfortable and maybe not perfect yet, but it's also kind of what Kurt's been waiting for.

"You," Blaine says, still quiet and close. Kurt can feel the way Blaine is breathing on his lips and against his chest. "You deserved this from the beginning." 

"All I wanted was you," Kurt says, curling his hands in closer to Blaine's back. It's true, he wanted Blaine so much in so many ways that he was willing to take what he could get -- and apparently Blaine felt the same way, the whole time, and now. Now they have the chance to do it right.

"I know," Blaine says, sounding a little breathless, and his mouth is so close, nearly dragging along Kurt's bottom lip, his jaw. "I know -- do you know how amazing that is? How I could barely believe it, before?" 

Kurt leans his forehead forward -- he can't even feel the skin of Blaine's hands, or the skin of his back, but he feels every touch through the material between them in sparking, near-slow motion. "I never pegged you for lack of self-confidence."

Blaine grins; Kurt can't really see it, too up close, but he can feel it. "You make me a little crazy, I think," he says. 

Kurt opens his mouth to answer but Blaine gets there first, finally -- finally -- catching Kurt's bottom lip between his own, soft pressure. They kiss until Kurt loses track of time, working his sweater off of Blaine as Blaine peels his own jacket from Kurt's shoulders, no rush or meaning besides getting closer, besides feeling. Blaine presses little, brief touches against Kurt's lips, kissing down his jaw and neck and laughing a little with it, breathless and overwhelmed, and Kurt tugs him back up, tilting Blaine's head back to part his lips and kiss him deeply, tongue sliding and urging but not insistently, maybe a little searching, but Blaine matches him evenly. 

When they finally fall into bed, shirtless and warm and smiling, Kurt rolls over on his side, facing Blaine and they both curl close together. 

"Hey," Blaine says, reaching down to slide his fingers through Kurt's between their chests. 

"Hi," Kurt breathes, tilting closer.

They don't say anything more. Kurt falls asleep, tired and warm and the only thought that runs across his mind is how falling asleep like this, his hand in Blaine's, his lips a little numb, a smile across his face -- it feels like a beginning and an ending all at once. 

  
-

  
Kurt wakes overheated and numb along one side, Blaine’s hair brushing against the side of his face, almost ticklish. 

“Hey,” Blaine says, tilting his head up from Kurt’s shoulder, voice sleep-rough and warm, “morning.”

Kurt blinks hazily down at him, finding it unbearably easy for a smile to work it’s way onto his face. “It’s dark out," he says, "I don’t think it counts as morning.”

Blaine reaches out and curls an arm over Kurt's chest, warm and welcome weight. His fingers play out a tapping sort of melody against Kurt's ribs, absent and comfortable. 

Kurt feels wide awake, only focusing on Blaine's touch and the way his breath is fanning out rhythmically on Kurt's neck. His mouth feels a little dry and he wants to lean over and kiss Blaine, and it takes the barest of second for Kurt to realize he can  _do_  that now, that Blaine wants that just as much as he does. Kurt huffs out a little laugh and rolls over onto his elbow, leaning up over Blaine's face. The light in the room is soft, a little gold with the early morning dawning around them, and Blaine looks soft and relaxed against his pillow. 

The way Blaine's mouth opens under him, a little laugh escaping before Kurt leans all the way down, is almost too easy when Kurt considers the past few weeks. Except, those weeks were easy too, in a backwards sort of way. 

Blaine hums into his mouth, pulling back a little. "I want this every morning," he says, running his thumb along the side of Kurt's face and down to his bottom lip. Kurt darts his tongue out to lick the pad of Blaine's thumb and Blaine pulls his hand back. 

Kurt rolls over Blaine's hips for a better angle, settling down on his thighs, and tipping Blaine head back against his pillow with a hand on his chin. "Me too," he says, belatedly agreeing, and the way Blaine's arms loop around his neck is easy and welcome when Kurt bends down to drag his lips over Blaine's chin, a little scratchy with stubble. 

Blaine's hands run over Kurt's back and his sides as they kiss, slow and languid and perfect for the morning beginning around them, and Kurt barely notices the tip of his hips down against Blaine's, because it's so easy to just move against and with him. 

"Hey," Blaine says, breaking away for a second and blinking up at Kurt, when Kurt rolls his hips down fully into their kiss a few minutes later, "hey, maybe we shouldn't --"

Kurt closes his eyes for a moment and thinks about what Blaine means, that maybe it wouldn't be the best thing for them, if they're starting over -- but he also thinks of how it always felt before, how there was always that feeling of  _more_  that they never acknowledged, and how it was nearly always good, and how now -- now it would be better. For everything between them, Kurt trusts Blaine more than anyone in his life, with his body and also in more ways than he can articulate. 

"I think --" Kurt starts, but pauses. "I don't think there is any reason to want something we know we can have, that we know is good -- amazing, even. Does that make sense? Why start at the beginning again when we have this between us?"

Blaine's eyes drag lazily from Kurt's face and down his chest, down to where Kurt knows their hips are pressed together, sort of shadowed in the light. 

"You know I want you," Blaine says, and he still sounds a little tired and sleepy, but with a low undercurrent that makes Kurt want to roll his shoulders back. "Always -- I can't not. As long as you want --"

"I do," Kurt says, more quietly than he means. "I want everything." He doesn't just mean sex, or numbers on a list that he's pretty sure he saw crumpled up on Blaine's floor before they fell into bed before -- he means everything in general. 

Blaine leans back up and sort of nuzzles against his face before kissing him. "I know," he says. "You have no idea --"

Kurt cuts him off with a low sort of laugh, rolling his hips back down against Blaine's, pleased at the friction and the way Blaine's eyes flutter closed, his mouth open mid-sentence. "You're always under the impression I don't have any idea how you're affect by me, or something," Kurt says, "but believe me. I  _know._ "

"Good," Blaine says, his eyes flashing open, the tired tone in his voice suddenly completely gone. His hands run down to grab at Kurt's hips and he flips them over before Kurt knows what's going on. 

It  _is_  better, like this. Minutes later and Kurt can't even bothered to be chilled when the air conditioning kicks on in Blaine's room, his skin burning everywhere with Blaine over top of him. It's slow and warm between them both and the way Blaine's fingers stretch him open carefully with just a little underlying drag off too-hard pressure when he presses up is just what Kurt needs, rolling his hips down onto Blaine's hand and kissing him at the same time, unable to stop. 

Kurt can't stop touching the parts of Blaine he can reach, can't stop rocking his hips down onto Blaine's hand and up against his mouth where he's dragging dry kisses over Kurt's hip and his inner thigh. He rolls them back over when Blaine leans up, asking a question with his eyes that he already knows the answer to, and Kurt settles back on top of Blaine to slowly sink down over his cock, letting them both feel the drag. 

They don't need to say anything, but Kurt can't help but keep looking at Blaine under him, can't look away and doesn't want to, even when he feels his own face twisting in pleasure, his hips shifting over Blaine at just the right angle. 

Blaine’s hands won’t stop moving as Kurt rocks over him, he runs them across Kurt’s shoulder blades and down the line of his spine, dragging across his ribs and down to his thighs, pausing to feel the movement there when Kurt lifts himself up and then presses back down, and it's -- "Blaine," Kurt says, unable to articulate much more, breathless and tight in his throat.

"I know," Blaine says, leaning up, pressing back against the headboard so he can drag his lips over Kurt's shoulder, down to the dip of his collarbone. "I know, I know." 

Blaine matches the rock of Kurt's hips, and they feel so close. Kurt isn't sure that there isn't an inch of skin on him that Blaine hasn't touched, because everything feels sensitive, heat pooling in his stomach and tightening in his muscles. 

When Kurt pulls his hips up again, he feels a little shaky, a little -- strangely -- like smiling. The balance between intense and just right is so good, and Kurt tenses only when Blaine's hand slips between them to wrap around Kurt's cock, fisting him slowly and tight. Kurt is close and as much as he doesn't want to rush anything, wants to make this last, he also doesn't care about holding back -- they can do this whenever they want, and as much as Kurt wants to memorize every moment, he also knows that from now on, for however long they stay together, every time will have the same new undercurrent as this time. 

Kurt bends down to press his lips against Blaine's forehead, leaving them parted around a small noise when he comes, rolling his hips back into the feeling, Blaine pressing deep inside as he clenches around him, digging his fingers into Blaine's back just a little to try and ground himself somehow. 

"Oh," Blaine says, somewhere in the background over the white-noise in Kurt's ears, "oh -- shit, Kurt," and Kurt can feel it when his back arches and his hips press impossibly up and he comes, too, shaking a little under Kurt's hands with the force of it. 

It takes a while for Kurt to feel like moving, sliding slowly from Blaine's lap only when Blaine starts shifting a little underneath him, probably too sensitive inside, where Kurt can still feel his muscles moving with the little sparks of heat rolling down his spine. He rolls over as much as he can, lying mostly half on top of Blaine's side, and Blaine settles a hand on his hip, rubbing small circles over the faint aching shadows there that Kurt can almost still feel.

"That --" Blaine says, pressed into Kurt's neck, trailing off in favor of kissing all the skin he can reach, lazy.

Kurt makes a small noise of agreement and tries to stretch a little, to see if the lingering feeling spread out all over his skis and the warm sort of ball of pressure curled in his chest will start to dissipate, but neither does. He grins a little, up at the ceiling, before turning his head towards Blaine and into the pillow they're sharing.

Kurt groans into their comfortable silence a few minutes later, though, the motion of Blaine’s hand on his hip stilling. “We have Saturday practice this afternoon, don’t we?” he asks, a little muffled.

Beside him, Blaine lets out a long, warm noise. “Not for another few hours,” he says. 

“I have to go home,” Kurt says, smiling into Blaine’s pillowcase when he feels the automatic tightening of Blaine’s arm around against him. “To get clothes,” he amends. 

“I think you look adorable just as you are right now,” Blaine says, pressing a grin into Kurt’s bare shoulder blade. “But you can borrow something of mine until you can get home. I still like the way you look in my hoodie.”

Kurt could probably manage to wrangle something together out of Blaine's closet. "You should come home with me, after," Kurt says, relaxing fully back against Blaine's mattress. "Have dinner with us."

"I was kind of thinking I could take you out," Blaine says, "but -- I'd really, really like that."

"Good," Kurt says, and he's already anticipating it when Blaine leans down to press their noses together briefly before kissing him, soft and slow, taking advantage of the fact that they can be comfortable doing that now in a way that Kurt welcomes fully.

  
-

  
They have a hard time finding something for Kurt to actually wear, though, when they finally have to roll out of Blaine’s bed and head down to practice. 

After several changes (and more than a handful of lingering touches, Blaine unnecessarily helping Kurt into a button down shirt for fifteen minutes that ends up not working out, anyway,) Kurt ends up in an older pair of Blaine’s jeans, short on his ankles but only just, and worn in the knees, and a Calvin Klein v-neck that Blaine never wears. (“You’ve been holding out on me,” Kurt says, even though the shirt doesn’t fit him right across the shoulders, dipping a little too low down his chest.)

“You look great,” Blaine says, running his hands down Kurt’s sides from behind him in the bathroom, Kurt trying to assess how he looks in the tiny mirror. Kurt watches the motion of Blaine’s hands and shivers, a little bit. “Don’t tempt me,” Blaine says, hot and right in his ear. 

Kurt rolls his eyes at the mirror. “It’s not my fault,” he says. “We should get going, though.”

Blaine hums, low, and drags his hands further up Kurt’s sides before stepping back, reaching automatically to twine his fingers around Kurt's and pull him out of the room. He doesn't let go.

Most of the Warblers are already gathered in the practice room by the time Kurt and Blaine make it across the campus, sliding inside just as Nick is shutting the doors.

“Way to be late,” Nick says, but his comment is overshadowed by David’s very enthusiastic yell from across the room of  _“Finally, you two!”_  that seems inappropriate in the context of only being two minutes late.

“Sorry we’re late,” Blaine says, smiling easily around the room, squeezing Kurt's hand under his own, “my boyfriend, it seems, doesn’t approve of the majority of my wardrobe.” 

Kurt is torn between beaming stupidly at the entire room and keeping his face straight and composed, and ends up with an expression between the two that Blaine scrunches his nose up at. 

“I knew it,” David says, again enthusiastic from his couch on the other side of the room, while congratulations are thrown around in earnest, something that pleases Kurt for way more than just one reason.

Wes inclines his head towards them, grinning when everyone starts to settles down and gather on the couches. “Hey, we’re all family here, right?” he says, “Help us out by letting us know when you two finally do the deed, because I’ve got fifty bucks riding on the end of the year party.”

“ _That’s_  what your bet is about?” Kurt asks, rolling his eyes while Blaine ducks his head to laugh into Kurt’s shoulder. 

“Did anyone bet mid-April?” Blaine asks, comfortably settling against Kurt’s side. 

Wes makes a face at him, eyebrows shooting up. “David is such a little shit,” he says, after a second, “I can’t believe I owe him money again.”

“I’m sure you can pay him back in other ways,” Kurt offers to Wes’ suddenly retreating back, watching him stride over to David. 

Blaine turns and laughs into his neck. “You’re amazing,” he says, squeezing at Kurt’s side and looking at him, both of them grinning wide and amused. “I lo--” Blaine starts, and then cuts himself off, looking sheepish. 

Kurt sucks his own lip into his mouth, because, yeah, kind of. “I know,” he says, quietly, even though the noise in the room has just elevated all around them. 

“We’re taking our time,” Blaine says, nodding, but his face is soft and his eyes are full of things Kurt can’t help but feel reflected in his own expression. 

“We are,” Kurt agrees, but Blaine brings his hands up to cup the sides of Kurt’s face and kisses him, lingering and warm, pulling away to laugh against Kurt’s lips as a round of catcalls starts up. After practice they'll go have dinner at Kurt's, and Kurt will drive Blaine back to Dalton or maybe convince his dad and Carole to let Blaine stay over, and maybe they'll curl up on the couch and watch a movie and kiss in the doorframe to Kurt's bathroom and then fall asleep, ready for the next morning and the next after that -- ready for everything, until it all starts getting old.

(Except, Kurt thinks, as Blaine drags him over to one of the couches near the window, settling them both into a space meant for only one person, they have so much left to do and try, with or without lists, that he's pretty sure nothing with Blaine will ever get old. Not with the way Blaine is still holding his hand, not with the way he's pressed warm up against Kurt's side. Not with everything they've already gone through and figured out together.)


End file.
